


Coffee & Politics

by LuminescentLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alpha Lydia, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Lydia Martin, Barista Derek, Beta Derek Hale, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Flirting, I am physically incapable of writing a short fic, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Pining, Political AU, Sassy Peter Hale, Slow Build, Sterek Campaign, Stiles Wears Glasses, Werewolf Lydia, sort of, tattoo!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:51:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminescentLily/pseuds/LuminescentLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wasn't too happy about Laura's decision to move their pack back to Beacon Hill, especially when he learned that he would be helping her run a coffee shop. But a certain talkative magic user makes his life a little more bearable. Too bad he's the Emissary of another pack and therefore off limits. But will a potential partnership between his and Stiles' Alpha change that?</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Lydia is dealing with a potental threat to her Pack. Someone had been breaking onto her properties and vandalizing them. The culprits leave no trace, not even a scent, and all of Stiles' magical protections remain intact and still working. Could this spell trouble for her position as Alpha, and can she trust the mysterious and alluring Peter Hale to help her.</p>
<p>Sorry, I'm awkward with summaries and I'll add more tags as they apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Derek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernaynay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaynay/gifts).



> This is set in a world where werewolves and other supernatural being are known but the majority of people are still human.
> 
> I've messed around with the timeline and ages a little. The Hale Fire still happened but I made Derek closer to Stiles' age and thus too young for Kate to have seduced. Also Peter isn't evil, just sassy and manipulative.
> 
> Laura - 31 years old  
> Derek - 28 years old  
> Peter - ???  
> Everyone else is 24-26 years old

 

 

Derek bit back a growl and tried to ignore the giggling whispers of the two teenage girls standing in line. Their high pitched voices carried perfectly to his ears as he tried to write out the menu on the giant chalkboard above the back counter.

“That’s him!” one of them whispered loudly. “Isn’t he just as hot as I told you!?!”

“He’s gorgeous,” her friend breathed. “What’s he doing in a place like this? He should totally be in movies or something.”

 _So I’d have to deal with thousands of love struck preteens like you, I don’t think so._ He thought darkly.

Over at the register, he heard Erica trying to hold back a laugh. She took a particular enjoyment from listening in on other people’s gossip about their pack.

“And you’re sure he’s single?” the second one asked skeptically. “I can’t believe someone like him doesn’t have some kind of supermodel girlfriend. What about that blonde girl who works here? Erica, I think her name is?”

Erica snorted, but neither of the girls noticed.

_You’d think they’d be smart enough to realize that a coffee shop run by werewolves with enhanced hearing is a bad place to gossip about said werewolves._

“No, she’s dating Boyd,” the first one murmured. “Derek really keeps to himself. Since the Hale pack moved back here, I’ve only ever seen him really talk with members of his pack. He’s probably still really emotionally scarred because of the Fire.”

“What fire?” the second one asked softly.

“The Hale Fire, dummy,” the first one shot back. “Like, fifteen years ago, or something, some crazy anti-werewolf activist burned down his house when he was just a kid, with most of his family trapped inside.”

“Oh, how awful,” the second one cried dramatically. “No wonder he’s so closed off and haunted.”

“Maybe he just needs someone to show him how to love again,” the first one sighed, causing the both of them to burst into another fit of giggling.

 _Great! Now, they’re making me into a tween romance novel character._ He only just managed to keep from crushing the chalk in his hand to dust.

He refused to look over at Erica, who was no doubt shaking with suppressed laughter. They knew each other well enough to know that she thought the tragic hero role those girls were casting him in was just as ridiculous as he did. Only, she found it infinitely funnier.

Thankfully, their conversation switched to boys in their school and he could once again focus on what he was doing.

“Seriously Derek,” Laura sighed in exasperation, as she walked up behind him. “Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“It’s fine,” Derek gritted out, not taking his eyes off of the chalkboard where he’d spent the past ten minutes painstakingly copying out the afternoon specials.

“I’ve seen five-year-olds who could do better,” she complained, snatching the chalk from out of his hands. “It looks like a serial killer’s ransom note or something.”

“Serial killers don’t write ransom notes, they kill people,” Derek huffed, crossing his arms across his chest and scowling at her.

“I noticed you didn’t disagree with the comparison though,” she smirked.

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” Derek shot back. “It defeats itself.”

“You’re handwriting is still awful,” Laura scoffed.

“You don’t like it, then do it yourself,” Derek growled and stormed off.

Working in a coffee shop was not what he had imagined, when Laura had first told him that they were moving back to Beacon Hills.

He hadn’t been thrilled with the idea in the first place. It felt weird being in their rebuild house. There were too many memories there, all colored by the lingering grief of the Fire. He might have been able to get past that, if it weren’t for all the meddlesome gossips in town, who constantly talked about it whenever they spotted him.

Then again, he had hated living in New York. Being a werewolf in a city that big was a nightmare. Everything was too loud, too flashy, and most of all too crowded. The people were pushy and aggressive and everything always felt like it was closing in on him. He couldn’t breathe there, with everything packed in so tight.

That’s not to say that it hadn’t had its upsides of course. It was a fabulous city that he’d always love to go back and visit. There were plenty of things to do, amazing food around every corner, and there was his job.

He missed his job.

If you asked Laura, she would say that he had been a bartender; he preferred to be called a mixologist. Any idiot who could serve beer could be called a bartender, but what he used to do was special. He knew over an hundred different drink and cocktail recipes, as well as all the flashy ways of pouring and mixing to entertain onlookers.

He loved creating complicated drink orders that drove his coworkers mad. He spent hours learning the best ways to make certain drinks and even fooled around with making a few of his own. And, if he was honest with himself, he loved all the admiring attention he’d gotten after performing a particularly showy move.

The fact that it did wonders for his sex life hadn’t hurt either.

Back in New York, he never lacked for willing bed companions, both men and women.

The bar he’d worked at was one of the best in New York. People came from all over to order the most intricate concoctions they could come up with. Every night there had been a new challenge. And the tips had been incredible.

Unfortunately, places like that could only exist in big cities. Small towns like Beacon Hills only had one or two bars and the drink selection there was nothing special. Usually it was whatever beer was on tap and maybe a limited variety of Scotch and Bourbon.

There was one decent club in town. Jungle was Beacon Hill’s only and surprisingly popular gay club. With his skill and his looks, he could have easily gotten a job there but he didn’t think he could live the same kind of lifestyle here as he had in New York. It was one thing to work in a club in a city of eight million, where you met different people every night. It was quite another to work in a town of less than two thousand. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of having a one night stand with someone he was almost guaranteed to run into around town, buying groceries or something.

Even though she never said it, he knew one of Laura’s main reasons for dragging back here was a hope that he would find someone to settle down with. He hadn’t been serious with anyone since the catastrophe that had been his relationship with Jennifer two years ago. But now Laura was interested in growing their pack again and she did genuinely want him to be happy.

So, he’d known all of this, before agreeing to move back here with Laura, even though his boss in New York had literally gotten down on his knees and begged him to stay.

What he hadn’t know—hadn’t even suspected—was that he would end up working as a barista in a coffee shop.

When Laura had first told him that she wanted to open a coffee shop, he’d thought she was joking. Didn’t the world have enough Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts in it? One of the things he definitely didn’t miss about New York was all the pretentious coffee shops on nearly every corner, where wannabe writers sat with their laptops all day and hipsters preformed bad poetry.

“But this will be different Der,” Laura had pleaded. “We’ll design it with a real homey atmosphere, where people can come and relax. Besides, Beacon Hills doesn’t have a Starbucks, or any other major coffee chain, so we won’t have any competition.”

“It’s still a coffee shop,” he had said flatly.

“I’ll let you design the drinks,” she offered sweetly.

She knew he couldn’t resist that lure.

He had though that it wouldn’t be so bad; he liked coffee and the prospect of designing all the flavored drinks appealed to him. Laura could hire a few teenagers to work the register and Derek could work in the back, making the drinks and designing new ones.

But of course that wasn’t how it happened. They were starting a new business and that meant they did most of the work themselves. The storefront they bought used to be a pre-owned bookstore, so it already had a nice, homey feel to it. That didn’t stop Laura from fine-tweaking everything about it.

Even though she was a werewolf—an Alpha at that—and could probably carry twice as much weight as he could, he somehow got roped into doing all the heavy lifting, carrying in all the tables and cushy chairs. Though, when it was finally finished, he had to admit the place looked good. It had a nice, inviting ambiance to it. The large front window and glass doors let in plenty of light to give it an open, airy feeling, with plenty of large, comfy chairs for people to relax in. Add in the caffeinated drinks and free Wi-Fi and they were soon one of the busiest establishments in town.

He hadn’t been crazy about the name. Triple Swirl Café was supposed to be play on words with their family symbol, the Triskelion that Laura had slapped on every cup and flat surface, but it seemed cheesy to Derek. Though he had gotten to design a chocolate, caramel, and vanilla swirl frappachino to go along with it, as their signature drink. No one else seemed to have an issue with the name and people had lined the block waiting on their opening day.

Of course, that had been when she sprang the news on him that he would be working out front.

With people.

He hated coffee shop people.

At a bar, people ordered their drinks, maybe flirted a little, and left to go back to their friends at their own table. They usually knew exactly what they wanted or they would tell him to surprise them. You would think the same thing would hold true in a coffee shop.

No such luck.

Here people would stand in line staring open-mouthed at the menu board, like a fish, for ten minutes and then, once they finally got up to the counter, they still wouldn’t know what the hell they wanted to order. They would just stand there for another ten minutes, holding up the line and ask him a million questions about what was in the drinks, even though the ingredients were clearly listed right next to the drink’s name.

And they were so arrogant about it too.

You would think that everyone who walked in the door was Royalty by the way they looked down their nose at him.

“I simply must have a Cafe Leche,” this one particularly snooty woman had order, as she snapped her fingers at him to hurry. “I can’t function without one. Thank God, a place finally opened in this town that serves it.”

“You do realize that Café Leche is just coffee with milk, right?” he had informed her.

“Don’t be absurd,” the woman had squawked. “Leche happens to be the purer grade of cream they separate from the milk.”

“No, it’s just milk,” he had growled, annoyed that this woman was trying to tell him what was in the drinks that he made.

“Just make my drink,” the woman had sneered. “I wouldn’t expect someone like _you_ to understand the intricacies of finer things.”

Luckily, Erica and Boyd had dragged him away to the back room, before he could lung over the counter at her, and Isaac had stepped in and charmed her with his angelic smile.

If there was one upside to moving back to Beacon Hills, it was his new packmates.

He had been a little hesitant about the idea of turning them at first, half convinced that it was just a scheme for Laura to set him up with a potential mate. Thankfully, that hadn’t been the case, but he’d still been a little on the fence. To him, pack had always been family, whether born to it or married into it. The thought of turning three strangers and just letting them join the pack, made him a little on edge. Back in New York, they didn’t have the space to expand or to help a newly bitten werewolf adjust, but now that they were back in Beacon Hills. And Laura apparently had big plans that included three new Betas.

“Next batch of scones are almost ready,” Boyd called out, as Derek burst through the double door into the kitchen.

If he’d heard anything that had gone on out front—either Laura’s teasing or the gossiping girls—he didn’t mention it. That was one of the reasons he liked Boyd, he didn’t make big deal out of things and he knew when to leave well enough alone.

“We’re running out of the coffee muffins too,” Derek informed him, already calmer now that he was away from all the people out front.

“I’m taking them out right now,” Isaac said, as he removed the muffin pans from the oven with a grin. “They should be ready just in time to serve to your two admirers out there.”

_Of course Isaac would’ve heard that._

He liked Isaac, he just wished he and Erica would stop making a big deal out of his love life, or lack thereof. Though he guessed that he should be happy about how much Isaac had come out of his shell. All three of their new Betas had flourished with the bite, becoming more confident and outgoing. None more so than Isaac, who had been very sullen and withdrawn when Laura first offered him the bite. Now he was smiling and laughing. And, of course, teasing.

“I’m sure they’ll forget all about me, once you stick your head out of the kitchen,” Derek replied.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of poaching on your territory,” Isaac mockingly protested. “You are higher up in the pack hierarchy; you get first dibs on the choicer pieces of meat.”

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Derek didn’t bother to answer that and went to the back storeroom to see if they had anymore Cinnamon Dolce syrup. They were running low up in the front and he needed it for his newest creation.

“You realize you’re going to pay for that during our next training session,” he heard Boyd say to Isaac.

“Worth it,” Isaac shot back.

Finding another few bottles of the syrup, he grabbed one and made his way back to the kitchen.

“These are all set to go out front,” Boyd said, handing him a tray of scones and muffins.

Squaring his shoulders in preparation to deal with his sister and more customers, he grabbed the tray and headed back out to the front. He went back through the double doors just in time to see Laura finish up the specials menu. He had to admit, it looked much better than his. Everything was written out in neat, flowing script with decorative flourishes around the edges.

“That’s how your write out a menu, baby brother,” Laura said, taking a step back to admire her work.

“Maybe you should just write it from now on then,” Derek huffed and dumped the pastries onto a shelf in the display cabinet.

“I’m trying to give you more experience, Derek,” Laura sighed, going over to straighten things out and make them look more presentable. “If we want this business to grow, then you have to put more effort into every aspect. It wouldn’t hurt you to work on your people skills either.”

 “Why does it matter anyways,” Derek sulked, but still helped her fix up the display. “You’re the manager, and I design the drinks. I already do most of the ordering and accounting, and you’re here for the rest.”

“Well, if my meeting with the Martin Alpha this afternoon goes well, I might not be around as much,” Laura countered. “And you’ll have to take on more of the responsibility.”

“The meeting that you still won’t even tell me anything about,” he said sourly.

The fact that Laura and Peter had been keeping something—something big—from him since they first moved back to Beacon Hills, irritated him to no end. He hated surprises and they knew that. And judging by the way the two of them were keeping such a tight lid on it, it had to be something that would affect the entire pack.

“I told you, I don’t want to worry you prematurely,” Laura explained for the thousandth time. “If this meeting doesn’t go our way, then it won’t even matter.”

“But there is something to worry about,” Derek pressed.

Laura was about to answer, when a smooth voice cut in.

“Go on, give the puppy a hint,” Peter teased. He hated when Peter called him a puppy. He was nearly thirty and Peter wasn’t that much older than them. What made it worse was that they never heard Peter, when he wanted to sneak up on them. Even Laura’s Alpha senses were no match against Peter’s stealthiness. “Even I’m starting to feel bad about keeping him in the dark.”

 “Why couldn’t we have left him in New York again?” Derek asked, only half joking.

“Oh, she would have left you there, before she left me,” Peter joked back.

“Peter please, not now,” Laura chided. “And what are you doing here? I thought you had some errands to run.”

“Finished early,” Peter said cheerfully. “Thought I’d swing by and remind you of our appointment with the Martin Alpha.”

“It’s still hours away,” Laura pointed out. “I have time.”

“On the contrary, dear niece,” Peter said sweetly. “We have just enough time to get you home and make you look presentable.”

“I just have a few more things to take care of here before I can go home and take a quick shower,” Laura said.

“I was referring to something a little more than just showering off the spilled coffee and pastry crumbs,” Peter sighed. “This is a rather important meeting, after all. You want to look your best.”

“I have held conferences with other Alphas before,” Laura said irritably.

“But never any that had as much riding on them as this one,” Peter countered. “And, if what I’ve learned about Lydia Martin is true, then she’ll be dressed to the nines and ready to draw blood for our meeting, while you’ll be stuck looking like a college student who just got home from her minimum wage job, putting you at a severe disadvantage.”

“It’s going to be a conversation not a fashion show,” Laura growled. “We’ll be discussing ideas, not clothing.”

“All the more reason you’ll want to look professional,” Peter said. “Like you can actually accomplish what you’ll be proposing.”

Derek has stayed silent for their conversation, hoping they’d forget that he was there. It made it more likely they would let slip some hint that would give him an idea as to what they were planning.

“You’re right,” Laura sighed in defeat.

“Aren’t I always,” Peter smirked.

“Looks like I’m leaving early, so that means you’re in charge,” Laura said, turning to Derek. “You’ve run the café by yourself before, and you can always call me, if you run into any problems.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if I snap and start ripping peoples’ throats out,” Derek huffed.

“That’s not as funny, Der,” Laura admonished.

“Who’s trying to be funny?” Derek deadpanned.

“Okay,” Laura gave up. “Just…just use your best judgment.”

“I will,” Derek said, feeling a little bad about how he was acting. Laura was clearly stressed about this meeting and he wasn’t helping. “And good luck with…whatever it is.”

“Thanks Der-bear,” Laura hugged him. “And it wouldn’t kill you to smile a little more.”

He didn’t like to admit it, but he was glad she’d left. Some people could work well with their relatives; Derek was not one of those people. Even though she was his Alpha, there was just something about having Laura around at his job that made him revert to a five-year-old mentality, where he wanted to drag his feet and put minimal effort into things just because she was the one that told him to do them. When he was on his own, he only had himself and his surprisingly high personal standards to answer to.

Working here wasn’t really all that bad, when he was the one in charge. Most of their regulars were actually pretty nice, with just the occasional asshole. He may have even genuinely liked a few of their regulars. Especially hyperactive, amber-eyed magic users, who came in for their daily caffeine fix.

The bell over the front door chimed, and Derek looked up expectantly, only to be disappointed by another group of teenagers walking in.

“Sad that your little loverboy hasn’t stopped by yet today?” Eric asked in a singsong tone, as he joined her behind the register.

Derek glared at her because he knew she’d hear the lie, if he tried to deny it, but that only made her laugh. She’d been part of the pack long enough that she’d built up an immunity to his death glares.

“Don’t worry,” she teased. “The day is still young.”

It was hard to admit—even to himself—that he had more than just a passing attraction one Stiles Stilinski. And, judging from the smell of arousal that wafted off Stiles like a heady perfume every time he spotted Derek, the attraction was mutual.

The younger man was exactly his type. Tall, brunette, fair skinned, and with the most amazing whiskey brown eyes he’d ever seen. Don’t even get him started on those adorable moles that dotted Stiles face and—he hoped—the rest of the younger man’s body. And that mouth. It should be illegal for some of the things Stiles did with the straw of his drink, constantly moving it between those plump lips or wrapping his tongue around it. More than once, Derek had had to retreat to the kitchens to get away from that sinful performance and prevent his pants from becoming embarrassingly tight.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t asked for Stiles’ number the first time he walked in the door was because he reminded him just a little too much of Jennifer.

He had dated Jennifer for a little over six months, before he found out that she was really a magical con artist, more interested in having a werewolf guard dog than a boyfriend. She hadn’t even really looked the way he though she had. Apparently, she had been using some kind of glamour around him the entire time they’d been dating. It had made her look exactly like what would be most appealing to him. So, in a way, it made since that Stiles would look similar to her. Once he realized that, it should have been no problem to start dating Stiles.

Until he found out that Stiles was the Emissary for the Martin Pack.

If he had been just a Beta or even a human member of another pack, it would have been no big deal. Packs often inter-married into other packs, it was a good way to forge connections and alliances. But Emissaries were different. They were the most trusted advisors for the Alpha and a vital part of pack security. That was the main reason why most Emissaries’ identities were a secret to everyone but the Alpha.

If a Beta tried to court an Emissary of another pack, it could easily be seen as an act of aggression by the Emissary’s Alpha. There would be all sorts of speculations as to whether the Beta was trying to find out secrets about the other pack or even trying to sabotage the pack’s security by stealing away their Emissary. Pack Wars had been started over those sorts of things in the past. And, from what he’d heard about Lydia Martin, she was pretty jealous of things she considered hers.

So, Stiles was officially off limits.

Something that would have been easier to deal with, if Stiles didn’t keep showing up almost every day. What made it even worse, was that the more he got to know Stiles the more he realized he wasn’t just physically attracted to him. Stiles was smart and funny and more than a little unusual. Stiles would come into Triple Swirl during a slow time for a drink and end up staying for hours to talk with Derek and the others. His conversations were pretty bizarre sometimes, but they were always fascinating. Derek was pretty sure he’d learned more about history, science, and pop culture in the last few months of knowing Stiles, than he had in his entire rest of his life.

And Stiles was always interested in trying whatever new flavor combinations Derek had created. He knew that, if they had enough drinks on their menu, Stiles would order something different for every day of the year. Never one to turn down a challenge, Derek worked even harder to try and create strange and new drinks for Stiles to try. Only a few of them ever made it onto the café’s actual menu, since most of them were so strange that Stiles was the only one who would want to drink them.

Sometimes, Stiles would even suggest a few odd flavor combinations that Derek would experiment with. The younger man would stand at the counter foot twitching or fingers tapping—because, even when he was standing still, he was never _standing still_ —while Derek messed around with different syrups and creams, pretending to be annoyed. His newest creation may or may not have been the result of Stiles telling him that s’mores were one of his favorite foods. He had just about perfected the right combination of chocolate and marshmallow flavors with just a hint of cinnamon and caramel to resemble graham crackers.

The bell over the front door chimed again, only to be another false alarm. Erica snickered some more.

He was not _pinning_.

He just wished that the circumstances preventing Stiles and him from dating were different.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2 - Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait a little while before posting the second chapter but I loved how it came out and I really want to know what people think of it. I've been looking forward to writing something on Lydia for a long time and I'm so grateful to supernaynay for finally giving me that chance!
> 
> I hope you like it!

 

 

Lydia had learned the importance of beauty at a young age.

When she was a child, she strove to be the smartest and have everyone know it. She lived for gold stars from her teachers and strived to win every ribbon and medal. While other little girls were playing with dolls, she was already mixing chemicals in her junior scientist’s kit.

But no matter how hard she strived, she would never compare to any of her male cousins. When they parroted some little trivia fact their teachers had told them, they were praised for their intelligence and perceptiveness. Whenever she shared one of her own original and insightful thoughts, people would just say that she was adorable or ask her whom she had heard it from.

The only times she was shown real attention was when she did something ‘cute’ that they could get on camera.

Like a pet performing a trick.

Of course, she used that to her advantage to get extra desserts and such, but it always irritated her.

It probably had something to do with the fact that the Martin Pack hadn’t had a female Alpha in over three generations but, back then, there was no way for her to have known that.

Then, in the fifth grade, she learned about Greek Mythology. At first she only wanted to learn about Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, but for, some unfathomable reason, she kept getting drawn back to Aphrodite, Goddess of Beauty. Maybe it was because they both had the same color hair or maybe it was because, even then, she sensed the power in beauty.

For whatever reason, she couldn’t stop herself from finding out more. She was particularly intrigued by the myth of Aphrodite’s Magic Girdle. It was an enchanted belt full of charms that had the power to bewitch any man who saw her in it and bring them to their knees. Even the King of the Gods was helpless against her, when she wore it.

Naturally she understood that, while magic did exist, the type of magic in these myths didn’t. However, she did know that all myths have a basis in fact. So, being the precocious child that she was, she conducted a series of experiments. She selected four of what she considered to be her prettiest belts and performed various praiseworthy and naughty actions in each of them to see if she was treated any differently based on which belt she wore. Even though she kept detailed notes of her observations, the experiment ultimately proved inconclusive. After that, she focused on other things and forgot about it for a time.

As she grew older, she despaired at how her intellect continued to be marginalized. Near the end of eighth grade, she had decided to teach herself archaic Greek and Latin, just to prove her intelligence. As a way to test herself, she endeavored to make her own translation of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.

It was during this little project that an epiphany occurred to her.

She came across a passage where the Goddess Hera asked Aphrodite if she could borrow her magic girdle. But what was strange was that Aphrodite took it off from around her chest not her waist.

 _Why would she wear a belt on her chest?_ Lydia had thought, perplexed.

Thinking that she had made a mistake in the translation, she checked and triple checked her work but could find no flaw. She could have just moved on but something about it irked her, so she did a quick Internet search and was rather surprised at the results she got. She read through several academic papers and an article in the American Journal of Philology. What she discovered was that Aphrodite’s Magic Girdle wasn’t like what we would consider a belt today but was actually two straps that would wrap across her chest like an ancient bra.

That was when the epiphany struck.

If all Aphrodite needed to have men falling at her feet was nothing more than a push-up bra, then men were very easily manipulated.

And if an ancient Greek Goddess could do it, why couldn’t she?

Using her intelligence rarely ever got her what she wanted and in several cases it had actively hindered her. Why couldn’t she use her looks to her advantage? It would be much easier and—if she did it right—they might not even realize what she was doing at all.

She would still hone her intelligence—a mind was a terrible thing to waste after all, especially one as brilliant as hers—but she would apply it more subtly. Hold it back as her secret weapon, only to be used at the right moment. She could already picture how far she could climb and by the time they realized how smart she really was, she would already be in charge.

With her new goal in mind, she had started her preparation. She had approached it like she would any other scientific experiment. First she collected all the fashion magazines she could find in stores. She even found one of her cousin’s issues of Neckz ‘n Throats, in its cliché hiding place under his mattress, to analyze as well. Then she studied them, learning everything she needed to know to enhance her already generous amount of natural beauty.

After that, the next stage had been to buy an entirely new wardrobe from the most expensive boutiques and a wide array of the top brand makeup. Being the princess of the Martin Pack meant that money was no issue. The entire summer before high school had been spent testing out different outfits and makeup. She had quickly figured out which shaped dresses and skirts flattered her figure and showed off her legs and had discovered exactly how to apply which shades of makeup to bring attention to her eyes and make her lips look fuller.

By the time she took her first steps through the doors of Beacon Hills High, she had completely reinvented herself. With her looks and her cunning, she took the school by storm and only halfway through her freshman year she was the undisputed Queen of Beacon Hills High. Even Jackson Whittemore, the King of Beacon Hills High took orders from her, when she spoke them in a sugary voice and batted her eyes at him.

When she inherited the powers and responsibility of Alpha after her grandfather’s passing—to the shock of everyone in her pack—she continued to use her looks to her advantage. She’d had a few issues, when she first ascended to the position of Alpha, but she had quickly dealt with them. It had almost been too easy to make herself look weak and vulnerable in front of some of the hotheaded, macho Alphas who came to challenge her. They had taken one look at her petite stature and designer clothes and assumed that she wasn’t a threat.

They continued to think like that, right up until she had her perfectly manicured claws at their throats.

She knew how to use beauty as the weapon that it was.

By the time she finished high school—Valedictorian, of course—no one mistook her for a pushover any more.

After graduating, she had originally planned to attend MIT, but sacrifices had to be made for the good of the pack. Caltech was much closer and allowed her to keep better watch on her territory. It also had a very well respected economics department.

While she enjoyed working on purely theoretical equations in her spare time, she had tailored the majority of her educational experience on more practical pursuits. It turned out that she had a flair for business and a keen eye for investment. Half the new businesses in the area had her to thank for their startup loans.

By the time she graduated from Caltech—nothing less than Summa Cum Laude—she had doubled her pack’s territory, tripled the number of lesser packs that answered to them, and stabilized their finances better than they had been in years. It was this, more than anything else, which finally earned her the respect and support of the majority of her Pack. Only the younger, rowdier males still occasionally grumbled but they never did more than that. The rest were content.

Now, she had just turned twenty five and thanks to her leadership, the Martin Pack had been the most important pack in California—maybe even the entire West Coast—for nearly a decade. There were a few lesser packs in the area, as well as some unaligned Omegas, but none of them came close to being able to challenge her pack.

Until now.

After nearly ten years, the Hale Pack had returned to Beacon Hills. The Hale Fire had greatly diminished their numbers and they were nowhere near as wealthy, but they were an old and respected pack and the Hale name still carried a lot of weight.

They hadn’t done much since they arrived. They rebuilt the Hale House, not far from Martin Manor, and opened their little coffee shop on Main Street. The only really threatening move they’d made was to turn three new Betas.

They had a right to grow their pack, but Lydia was particularly irked at their choice of Betas. She could have cared less about Isaac and Boyd, but she’d had her eye on Erica Reyes as a new addition to her pack, before Laura Hale had swooped in and offered her the bite.

Lydia could have protested their actions but, even though the Martin Pack had effectively taken over Beacon Hills, the Hales still had a legitimate claim to the area. The Hales were one of the founding families of Beacon Hills and they still owned quite a bit of real estate in the town.

Then there was the little matter that, before the fire, the Martin Pack had been subservient to the Hale Pack. So far, Laura Hale had yet to push that issue. She hadn’t demanded Lydia’s loyalty but she hadn’t asked Lydia’s permission before turning three new Betas either.

Now, Laura Hale had requested a meeting with her. Requested, not ordered.

She could have refused, but that would have been impolite as well as unnecessarily hostile. Besides, she was curious to meet Laura. She had seen the other Alpha around town, but they had yet to be formally introduced. Lydia was interested to see if Laura had inherited any of Talia Hale’s legendary leadership qualities.

Talia Hale had been one of her heroes growling up and also one of the role models she tried to emulate as an Alpha. But that didn’t mean she would just roll over for her daughter. This meeting might be nothing more than an opportunity to renew their packs acquaintances but, if Laura Hale expected her to bow down to her authority, she was in for quite a surprise.

Either way, she would find out soon enough.

For this meeting, she chose her ensemble very carefully. Dressed mostly in light cream colors, it gave her an air of gentle innocence with a few strategically placed touches of red, as a subtle reminder of her power as Alpha.

Next, she artfully arranged her hair so that it fell to one side. It showed off her graceful neck and gave the impression that she was baring her throat, without showing any actual signs of submission. She’d used this trick several times to great advantage when dealing with Alphas of other packs. It helped her lull them into a false sense of security, so that they were more likely to make mistakes during their negotiations.

It wasn’t nearly as effective against female Alphas as it was against male Alphas, but every little advantage helped.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she called for a car. The car service she used was a very exclusive and discreet one. It catered to the highest level of clientele, including CEOs, politicians, and even a few movie stars. She was also its largest shareholder and had provided the startup money for it, though she kept her influence a secret, hidden behind several shell companies. Over the years, it had helped her obtain quite a few choice pieces of information that had given her an edge over some of her business rivals. She never used the information she obtained for anything as gauche as insider trading, but she wasn’t above leaking little tidbits to the press and embarrassing certain people who had crossed her.

The car was ready and waiting, when she stepped out the door. Brian, her usual driver, was holding the door open for her. She enjoyed the feeling of the buttery soft leather seats for a moment, before she took out her tablet and reviewed some her latest stock trades. Normally, she wouldn’t trust a wireless device like this with her financial information, as they were all too easy to hack, but this one had been specially encrypted for her by Danny, when he had returned from MIT.

Even though she had offered it to him multiple times, Danny still refused to take the bite. That didn’t stop him from being a part of her pack. She had completely paid his tuition and had lent him the seed money to open his own cyber security company. He was still just starting out but she could already tell was going to be big. After all, who better to design computer security programs, than a hacker who knew all the tricks to getting around those very same types of security programs?

It didn’t take long to reach the Hale House. She could have just run there quicker, but there was something to be said about making an entrance. She also came by herself. It was traditional to bring at least one Beta along to a meeting between two Alphas, but Lydia had never been one to stand on tradition. They would either see it as a bold move from a confident Alpha or the naïve gesture of a foolish girl. Either way it could work to her advantage.

She had no idea how long this meeting would take, so she told Brian to turn off the car and wait for her.

Looking at the house, she couldn’t help but be impressed. Even though the house was newly rebuilt, it had been designed to look like it had stood for generations. Like the one that had burned to the ground.

She could hear someone’s heartbeat just behind the front doors and wasn’t at all surprised when they opened just as she reached them. The heavy oak doors pulled back to reveal a man not quite middle aged, who was still devastatingly attractive. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal grey, tailored suit but had forgone wearing a tie, to give it more of a relaxed look. He had classic Hale features and judging from his age, she guessed that this was the enigmatic Peter Hale.

He looked younger than she’d imagined, and much better looking. She felt a sudden, unexpected urge to run her fingers through his slicked back hair and to see what his perfectly trimmed goatee felt like.  But what really caught her attention were the calculating crystal blue eyes that were analyzing her just as thoroughly as she was him. She was used to being stared at; everything from lustful leers to contemptuous glares, but there was something about his eyes that cut right through her.

 _This one could be dangerous._ She thought, not liking the effect he was having on her.

Thankfully, he dropped his eyes in respect and stepped aside to let her ender. She moved passed him and was immediately overcome by his scent. He smelled incredible. His scent was exciting and alluring; smooth as a glass of aged Scotch, yet exhilarating, like a bolt of lightning, with just the slightest hint of smoke. She resisted the urge to lean closer and sniff.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_ She berated herself.

Shaking her head slightly, she covered her pause by giving him a look that said, ‘well, are you going to show me the way or not?’

He returned her look with a mischievous smirk and led her through the house.

She had to give her compliments to their interior decorator. The inside of the house was very warm and inviting, all neutral colors and heavy wooden furniture. But there was something not quite right about it. It was missing something. There weren’t that many photos on the walls or tables and the few that were there were all recent ones.

 _The older ones must have been lost in the fire._ She thought sympathetically.

The walls, floors, and furniture were all too pristine as well. They lacked that lived-in feeling. There weren’t any scuffs, chips, or general wear and tear that came with age and childhood accidents. All the things that made a house into a home.

She didn’t have long to reflect upon this, as Peter soon led her to a study where Laura was waiting.

The Hale Alpha rose to greet her as they entered. She couldn’t help feeling a little pleased at that. If Laura was standing to greet her like that, then it meant she thought of the two of them as equals. It boded well for this meeting. But she didn’t want to raise her hopes prematurely. She had employed similar tricks herself in the past to gain the upper hand.

Laura was dressed professionally, in a navy blue power suit that showed off her figure, but gave her a bit of a masculine edge. She was tall and quite beautiful with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She also had the strong cheekbones that were a family trait and the same strikingly beautiful hazel eyes as her younger brother Derek. Lydia had spent quite a few hours listening to Stiles wax poetically about those eyes and now she finally understood what all the fuss was about.

“Alpha Martin,” Laura said as she extended her hand in greeting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“And you as well, Alpha Hale,” she replied, slipping her hand into Laura’s for a firm but not bone crushing handshake.

“Please, call me Laura,” Laura said, smiling brightly.

“And you may call me Lydia,” she responded in kind.

“Please, have a seat won’t you,” Laura gestured to leather armchair across from her as Peter moved to stand behind his Alpha.

The chair was just as nice as the one Laura herself was sitting in but it was also placed so that she had her back to the door; a position that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. She wasn’t in any real danger of having someone sneak up her, as she would hear anyone coming, but her wolf didn’t like having her back to a potential threat.

She wasn’t entirely certain Laura had done on purpose to put her on edge but, if she had, Lydia wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing it unsettled her. Instead she just crossed her ankles daintily and waited for Laura to speak first.

“I just want to start off by assuring you that I have absolutely no intention of trying to subjugate your pack,” Laura stated bluntly. “It’s been a long time since the Martin Pack answered to the Hale Pack and since then your pack has grown too strong to answer to anyone…thanks to your leadership.”

The slight pause before the last part let her know that the compliment wasn’t entirely sincere, but Lydia couldn’t detect any lie about Laura’s intentions towards her pack.

 _So then, they must want something from me._ She surmised. _And she brought up how we used to serve them, maybe trying to stir up feelings of owing them for their past support._

Now that she had seen Laura’s opening bid, she quickly calculated her next move. The way she saw it, there was one of two ways she could take this conversation. She could return the compliment or she could challenge Laura, throw her off balance and see how she responds.

She chose the latter.

“While I appreciate your assurances,” she said just a touch too sweetly, before continuing more boldly. “I wasn’t exactly worried that you _could_ subjugate my pack, given your pack’s current strength.”

When faced with something unexpected, most people will revert to their most honest and involuntary reaction. Competent people can quickly compose themselves, but very few could hide their reactions entirely. Peter Hale was apparently one of the rare ones, which impressed Lydia greatly. On the other hand, Laura’s first reaction was to smile.

“I’d heard you were a formidable opponent,” Laura admitted.

Lydia quirked her lips in a predatory smile, “Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

She couldn’t be entirely certain, but she thought she saw the corners of Peter’s lips twitch upward ever so slightly.

“So, why don’t we cut the chitchat and you can tell me why I’m really here,” she said a little more sharply than she had intended.

“I asked you here to talk about the future,” Laura proclaimed, leaning forward excitedly.

“Do go on,” Lydia encouraged, her curiosity piqued.

“Over fifty years ago, our kind revealed themselves to the rest of mankind,” Laura began. “It took ten long years but we eventually gained equal rights. While we’ve gained acceptances in many places, rampant specism still plagues our kind. There is widespread prejudice in the workplace and there are even some places where police turn a blind eye to outright violence. With the recent economic worries, there’s been a marked resurgence of anti-werewolf—”

“You can skip the rest of the campaign speech,” Lydia cut in, as recognition dawned on her. “It’s quite obvious what you’re after. You want to run for a political office and you want me to help fund you. The Hale name backed by Martin money.”

“They said you were perceptive,” Laura nodded appreciatively.

“Well, then _they_ were correct,” Lydia said proudly. “What I’m not, is easily swayed. So, why exactly should I back you?”

“You’ve given donations to several pro-werewolf causes over the past few years,” Laura said with shining eyes. “Think about it. I can be the face of change! Think of all the new laws we could introduce to reform our entire system. Our kind needs more representation in legislation.”

_She passionate, I’ll give her that. And she has the kind of charisma needed to win people over. But does she have the brains and the will for it?_

“I make no secret of my support for improving the standing of our kind,” Lydia gave a graceful shrug. “But I must say, from barista to politician is quite a big leap.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a small business owner,” Laura countered effortlessly.

 _Someone’s been practicing her press lines._ Lydia thought approvingly.

“Yes, that sounds much better for your platform,” Lydia agreed cynically. “Saying that you’re from a small community in a state like California, instead of living in an apartment in New York, also improves your image considerably.”

“I moved my pack back here and started the Triple Swirl Café for my brother,” Laura stated frankly. “New York wasn’t doing him any good. He needed to get away from some of the negative influences surrounding him. What better way to come out of his shell and become part of the community than a coffee shop? Somewhere people naturally gather and socialize.”

“It also helps you win points with the younger voters,” Lydia noted. “Gives them an image of a young, fresh candidate, instead of some wrinkly old politician.

“That was only an added bonus,” Laura said with a smirk, and Lydia could hear the truth in her heartbeat.

“I don’t mean to seem callous,” Lydia added hesitantly. “But your family’s death will no doubt gain quite a bit of support to your cause and add an element of tragic heroine to your image. You do realize that running for office will bring up the issue of the fire all over again?”

“I have taken that into account,” Laura said solemnly. “While I don’t like it, I’m prepared to deal with it.”

“And the rest of your family?” Lydia questioned looking over at Peter, whose face remained a perfect mask of neutrality. “Are they okay with the idea of having their entire lives put on display and picked apart because, if you’re serious about running, it won’t just be you in the spotlight?”

“I haven’t spoken with my younger brother yet,” Laura admitted. “But I’m certain that he’ll be okay with it. I didn’t see the need in worrying him too much, since it wouldn’t matter much until you agreed to lend your support.”

“But she hasn’t agreed to join us yet, dear niece,” Peter spoke for the first time. His tone was light and playful, but she could easily imagine how dark and seductive it could become.

 _Smart boy._ She noted favorably.

 “True, I would have to weigh the benefits for the good of my pack,” Lydia answered honestly.

“There are always benefits to being a major donor of a politician,” Peter said smoothly.

“I won’t do anything illegal,” Laura announced firmly.

Lydia laughed dryly, “What isn’t legal for a person with enough money these days.”

“But as a major supporter, you will be under scrutiny as well,” Peter challenged.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have many skeletons in my closet, at least, not very big ones,” she replied. “And you don’t have to worry about my business dealings either. I’m a firm believer that only those who lack competence and imagination have to resort to unsavory methods. I was even the first one in Beacon Hills to go completely Green.”

“Another reason why we came to you,” Laura added. “So, what do you say to my proposal?”

“Do you want my honest answer?” Lydia asked, arching one perfectly shaped brow.

“Of course,” Laura replied.

“You strike me as very forthright and maybe even a little naïve,” Lydia told her frankly. “Both of these qualities would help you greatly with getting elected, but how can I be sure you would be able to accomplish anything worthwhile, once you were in office?”

Laura opened her mouth to speak but Peter cut her off, “Because I would be helping her.”

“Yes, Peter Hale,” Lydia said his name out loud for the first time, savoring the taste of it on her tongue. “You’re reputation precedes you.”

She looked him directly in the eye, and was pleased to see he could hold her gaze. Not many Betas could do that, or Alphas for that matter.

“And it’s that _reputation_ that keeps him from running for office himself,” Laura cut in.

“Still there is something to be said for experience,” Lydia said appreciatively, and even she wasn’t sure if she meant for that to be a double entendre or not.

“Is that a yes then?” Laura asked, just a tiny bit too hopeful.

She desperately wanted to say yes. The increasing level of anti-werewolf sentiments creeping into the media recently disturbed her greatly and Laura was just the right combination of honesty, confidence, and forward thinking that could win people over. With someone like Peter Hale working for her behind the scenes and with Lydia’s help running the campaign, she would undoubtedly win by a landslide. But years of business experience told her to wait. There were still plenty of variables she had to think through first and it was never wise to make a rash decision on something like this.

“May I have some time to think it over?” she inquired. “It is a lot to consider and I would need to discuss this with my pack. A decision like this will affect them as well.”

“Of course,” Laura conceded, only a little crestfallen. “An Alpha always has to put their pack first. And besides, the election season is still months away.”

“Still, it’s never too early to begin planning,” Peter added.

“I have a pack meeting this Sunday,” she informed them. “I’ll bring up the subject then and give you my answer on Monday morning.”

“Thank you,” Laura said as she rose from her seat. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Lydia too stood up and they both shook hands again, a little more warmly this time.

“Allow me to show you out,” Peter offered, stepping forward.

They walked through the house in silence, her mind still processing everything that had just happened. She didn’t even notice when they reached the front door.

Catching her off guard, Peter told hold of her hand, brought it up to his mouth, and placed a kiss on the back of it. It gentle and light, but it still sent a pleasant shudder through her.

“I do hope you’ll decide to join us in this little venture,” he said, eyes glinting. “More than just your money, I think you’re planning and organization skill would be invaluable to us. And I think I would very much enjoy working with you.”

“I think I would enjoy that as well,” she replied, proud of the level of control in her voice.

He escorted her right up to the car and held the door open for her to get in. She forced herself not to look back at him, even though she knew he wouldn’t be able to see her through the dark tinted windows.

Her head was swimming the entire way home and, more often than she liked, her mind drifted back to the feeling of Peter kissing her hand. It had been a simple gesture, his lips had barely grazed her flesh, but even remembering it sent shivers up her spine.

If she did agree to help with their campaign, then she would have to be very weary of him. She hadn’t been prepared for the effect he had on her—didn’t think anyone could ever have had that kind of effect on her—but next time she would be ready.

She was an Alpha and she used her power and beauty to bring men to their knees. Peter Hale would simply be a bigger challenge than anyone before.

And she did enjoy a good challenge.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments equal love and I really want to hear what people think of this chapter!
> 
> Or you can follow me at LuminescentLily.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3 - Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!  
> I'm so sorry it took me this long to post this chapter, after I finished 'Warm and Fuzzy Inside', but it's not entirely my fault. I was recently in a car accident with my sister-in-law. Some moron, who was texting and driving, completely smashed into us. We're both fine. My sister-in-law only had a minor concussion and some whiplash but I fractured my wrist and broke two fingers trying to brace myself, while we were spinning out of control. And, of course we, had a ton of bruises and cuts from all the shattered glass. I'm just thankful my nephews weren't in the car with us, because the backseats took most of the damage.  
> Needless to say, my typing abilities have been severely hindered. I'm healing nicely though, so the wait between chapters shouldn't be too long. This chapter was unbeta'd so please forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes.

 

 

Stiles wondered, if it were possible for a human being’s eyes to explode, from staring at a computer screen for too long. If so, then he definitely had to be close to reaching critical mass. He had been tirelessly combing through various message boards and online archives looking for any clues whatsoever to his current dilemma. So far, he hadn’t had much luck. Normally, he relished challenges like this. He thrived in the pursuit of knowledge and the unraveling of mysteries. But this wasn’t just some intellectual curiosity for his own amusement. This time is a matter of his professional integrity.

Plus, Lydia would rip his balls off, if he couldn’t figure this out.

For the past two weeks, someone or something had been breaking onto and vandalizing Martin properties. Nothing major, just knocking things over and ripping away anything that wasn’t nailed down securely. Typical vandalism, usually done by bored teenagers. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be such a big problem. In the past the pack could just sniff out the culprits and hand them over to the police. This time, there was just one tiny problem with that strategy.

In this case, the perpetrators weren’t leaving any scent behind.

Granted there are a few ways to do that, both magical and mundane, and the fact that the vandals thought of that, before messing with werewolf property, shows some level of intelligence. But that wasn’t the only startling aspect of these transgressions. Not even the professional security systems Lydia had installed were able to detect the mysterious mischief makers. And those were no joke either. None of the alarms were ever set off and all the damage wasn’t discovered, until the next morning. When they checked the security footage, it was always wiped clean.

But that’s not all.

As the Martin Pack’s Emissary, one of his main responsibilities was setting up magic based security for the pack. Even if they could somehow mask their scent from a werewolf’s nose _and_ get past the best security systems on the market, the protective wards Stiles set up around all the Martin territory and properties should have, if not prevented them from entering, as least set off alarms to let the pack know that there were intruders. But again, nothing. The intruders had waltzed right past all his carefully constructed supernatural defenses like they were noting.

He didn’t want to brag, but he was damn good at what he did. He’d been trained by one of the best Druids in the Western Hemisphere and it wasn’t just anybody who could claim that. But more than that, his wards weren’t even disturbed at all. After the first incident, Stiles had spent a day driving out to all the Martin properties and personally checked each and every ward, only to find that they were all fully charged and functioning as normal. Not a single one of them showed any signs of tampering or having been set off.

What made it even worse, was that he had absolutely no idea what or how anything like this could even be pulled off. Getting past just one of their defenses would be an impressive feat, but getting past both, without leaving a single trace was unheard-of.

Now, a little vandalism doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but it was more the way it was happening. These vandals, whoever they were, were antagonizing a powerful Alpha and presenting a direct challenge to Lydia’s authority. Not being able to catch them, was making Lydia look like a weak Alpha who couldn’t protect her pack.

It also had some pretty serious implications about pack security. For now, it was just minor destruction of property but, what if it escalated? What was to stop whoever it was from coming to their homes in the dead of night and killing them in their sleep? Even in today’s society, bad things happened to packs that couldn’t defend their territory.

That was why Stiles was now obsessed with figuring out how they were able to slip past all their defenses. As the pack Emissary, he was just as responsible for the safety of the pack as Lydia was. He’d already reached out to several of his supernatural contacts, as well as Deaton and Morrell, but no one had any clues as to what would be capable of this. He’d had Danny check the security systems, but the computer genius found zero evidence of it having been hacked. He even talked with his dad to see if there had been any reports of similar crimes in any of the police databases, but he came up with nothing as well.

So now he was back to scouring the internet for any hint of something useful. Unfortunately, about ninety-eight percent of what was on the internet was pure garbage. The real stuff took hours of combing through historical archives and sifting through metaphors in old myths and folklore to find. Occasionally there is a real gem of information buried in an old diary from the 1800s or an anonymous posting on one of the more reliable message boards. The trick was learning to discern the rubbish from the truth hidden underneath. He was pretty good at that, but it was still time consuming. He really needed to stop expecting his magical research to be like it is in an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In real life there aren’t just books filled with spells and precise descriptions of monsters and their abilities. Well okay, there are books like that but they’re total garbage. Just sensationalized, pop-culture stereotypes with brightly illustrated pictures.

One of the things he’d been working on, as part of his duties as Emissary, was compiling his own bestiary of accurate information put into modern terms that could be easily understood, unlike the antiquated legends passed down and the odd text written in archaic languages. But nothing he’d come across in all his studies so far could explain what he was currently dealing with.

“WHAT ARE YOU!?!” he yelled at his laptop.

Frustration was starting to affect him, as he failed to take in any of the information in the paragraph he’d just read for the fourth time.

“I don’t suppose you have any ideas?” he asked the Marvin the Martian flash drive standing next to his laptop. It remained silent. “Didn’t think so.”

He was on the verge of throwing his laptop out the window in frustration, when his phone started ringing. The familiar notes of Scott’s ringtone reached his ears and he scrambled to answer, before it went to voicemail.

“Scotty, my man, what’s up?”

“Hey bro, just thought I’d check up on you,” Scott said cheerfully. “Haven’t heard from you in over twelve hours, so that usually means you’re in research mode, or you messed up a new spell you’re working on and paralyzed yourself or something.”

“Pff, untrue,” Stiles protested. “I could have picked up some gorgeous stranger and taken them back to my place for a truly epic sex marathon.”

“More like you tried to hit on someone, they turned you down, and now you’re wallowing in your apartment eating ice cream and watching chic flicks,” Scott teased.

“Harsh,” Stiles replied. _But True_. “Not all of us can have a perfect love live like you. And I don’t watch chic flicks. I watch classic comedies, like, anything with Bill Murray.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Scott laughed. “So you still stuck on trying to figure out how someone’s been getting past your wards?”

“I’m making progress,” he lied.

“Translation: you’re stuck and have no clue what to do next,” Scott countered.

After nearly two decades of friendship, Scott knew him too well.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Have you slept at all since I saw you yesterday morning?” Scott asked accusingly.

“I got some sleep,” Stiles protested. A couple hours, when he passed out on his laptop, only to wake up with keyboard shaped imprints on his face.

“ _Riiiight_ ,” Scott sounded unimpressed. “Have you at least eaten recently?”

“Well, ‘recently’ is a relative term…I mean, you and I think of the 70’s as being a long time ago, but compared to the time of the dinosaurs, it was like the blink of an eye.”

“That’s what I thought,” Scott sighed. “I’m gonna take a lunch break and you’re coming with me.”

“I’m fine, really!” Stiles argued. “I’m a grown man and I know how to take care of myself.’

“Is everything in the room floating?”

“What! I don’t know what…”

Everything in the room was levitating a few feet off the ground. Well, not everything. Just a few books, pens, a coffee mug, and a bunch of other little knickknacks he had lying around his apartment. Little quirks of magic like this used to happen a lot, when he was younger and didn’t have the proper training. Now, this kind of thing only happened, when Stiles hadn’t preformed any magic for a while and all the excess power started leaking out. Like when he’d been in research mode for a few days and forgot to burn off his excess energy.

Stiles really did need a break.

“Yep,” Scott gloated. “I’ll be over in twenty. My treat.”

“Dude, I make more money than you do, I’ll pay,” Stiles insisted.

“We’ll flip for it,” Scott said, and hung up before Stiles could argue any more.

A coffee break would be good for him. He could come back and attack the problem from a new angle and the caffeine would help him focus. That’s why Scott was such an awesome bro, he always knew when Stiles needed to be dragged away from his computer and knew exactly how to do it. Bribing him with caffeine was always a winner.

The amount of coffee he drank might have been deemed unhealthy by most but, in all honesty, it really did help him. Stiles had been diagnosed with ADHD when he was five years old, which basically meant that his mind was wired a bit differently from most people. He tended to be jittery, talkative, impulsive, and really couldn’t sit still for any amount of time, unless he was doing something he was really interested in, like research, in which case he had an almost laser-like focus. It also meant that his brain didn’t process chemicals the same way that other people did. For most people, caffeine woke them up and gave them a burst of energy. For him, it did the exact opposite. Caffeine mellowed him out and let him relax. When he was younger, his dad used to give him a triple shot of espresso just to get him to go to sleep at night.

So, yeah, some coffee would be a good idea right now. He could relax a little, get some food, and come back to attack the problem with a clear head. And, if a certain tall, dark, and broody barista happened to be working, then that was just an added bonus.

The little Marvin the Martian flash drive next to his laptop glared at him judgingly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Stiles objected. “Coffee legitimately helps me think.”

The little flash drive continued to stare at him.

“Arguing with inanimate objects, Stiles,” he chided himself. “Not a good sign.”

Looking back at all the floating items in the room, he gave a frustrated sigh. Stuff like this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, once his tattoo had been finished.

Most magic users weren’t that powerful. They possessed a small spark that allowed them to preform small spells but not much else. There were probably thousands of people out in the world who possessed true magic but never realized it because their power level was so low. Stiles was not one of those. His power manifested early and with a bang. It was only thanks to his mother’s abilities that he hadn’t done any major harm to anyone, before he learned control. After she died, Deaton had taken over his training and had deemed it necessary for more extreme measures of controlling his power.

The end result was a gorgeous full sleeve tattoo spreading out to his right shoulder, his collar bone, and down the side of his ribcage done in vivid blue. The main ingredient in the ink had been woad, like the ancient druids used, mixed with a few other ingredients that he was never allowed to tell another living soul. It had taken forever to finish because of his squeamishness—and the fact that it had to be done without any kind of modern tattoo gun.

People always asked why he didn’t have both arms done and he always replied that one was enough. The truth was, there was no way he could sit through having the other arm done. He had just barely managed the one. The hardest part of the whole process was that he had to be awake to focus his magic into them, while the tattoo artist was working. Twenty minute sessions, two times a week for a year had finally seen to its completion. But the amount of control and channeling ability it gave him was worth every second.

Running his fingers along the intricate mix of Celtic and Slavic symbols, he felt the magic coursing through it. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he channeled his magic to bring every levitating object in his apartment back down to its proper place. When that was done, he started getting ready.

Looking around for his glasses, he ran a hand through his hair and accidentally knocked them off his head. They were hipster glasses but he loved them. Plus the thicker frames made them harder to break, when he dropped them, and easier to spot, when he lost them. He laid them down on his desk and got up to take a quick shower.

When he was done drying off, he maybe took a little longer to pick out his clothing than usual. After a little deliberation, he threw on a grey blazer over his favorite red hoodie. As the Martin Pack Emissary, he needed to try and start look somewhat more professional than when he was in high school, even if he would never have Lydia’s level of fashion. Up till now, Lydia had done all of the negotiations on the Pack’ behalf, but she had slowly started giving him more and more responsibilities. Soon he would be the one sent on away trips to other Packs and be the official pack representative. To prepare for that fast approaching day, he had slowly started incorporating more articles of “grown-up” clothing into his wardrobe. He was gradually acclimating himself into the world of suits and ties, though he vowed he would always keep his own unique flare to whatever he wore.

He debated with himself on whether or not he should try and use up some of his excess power, before venturing into public, but finally settled on just grabbing a bracelet of amber beads. Amber was a soothing stone and fiddling with the beads would help him keep his magic focused. It had also belonged to his mother and was made from amber mined in the region of Poland that her family was from, so there was the added connection to the origin of his powers. The fact that amber was also used to enhance a person’s natural beauty had absolutely nothing to do with it. Maybe a little bit.

Scott arrived just as he was putting his glasses back on. After graduating nursing school and moving in with his Kitsune girlfriend, Kira, Scott had finally traded in his beloved dirt bike for an actual car. He hopped in and they headed off to the only decent source of coffee in the entire town.

Last year, Lydia had bought him a fancy home espresso machine to feed his caffeine addiction but he had never been able to master the intricacies of operating that demon-possessed, chrome monstrosity. The instructions might as well have been written in Chinese, for all the good they did him and his old friends Trial and Error were no help either. All they had gotten him were more than a few minor burns. He was pretty sure the machine had bitten him at one point as well. He completely abandoned it around the twentieth time he scalded himself and just drank all the flavored syrups straight from the bottles.

When the Triple Swirl Café opened, it was like some benevolent Caffeine God had answered his prayers. That God had turned out to be a cruel, capricious trickster, who delighted in watching Stiles suffer. The heartless, deity provided Stiles with the ultimate form of torture in one Derek Hale. Derek, who was the physically epitome of a wet dream, also happened to be genius at creating delicious tasting caffeinated beverages and possessed a dry wit that was more than capable of keeping up with his own.

So, of course, Derek had absolutely no interest in him.

It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t dropped plenty of very obvious hints. And there was no way in hell that Derek couldn’t smell how attracted to him Stiles was.

_At least he’s nice enough not to mention it. And there are always other fish in the sea._

It wasn’t like he was totally inexperienced. After he got over his crush on Lydia, he discovered that he wasn’t as totally pathetic as he’d originally thought. He’d lost his virginity in high school to Heather, his oldest friend. They hadn’t been dating or anything. They were both just tired of being the only virgins in their class and both wanted their first time to be with someone they trusted and didn’t have to be nervous with. It had been sweet and awkward and afterwards they had still been friends. He was even invited to her wedding next spring.

College had seen him too busy studying for anything more than a few drunken hookups at parties. Though it did help him confirm that yes, he was attractive to gay guys, and that he was bisexual. That last one really shouldn’t have been as big of a surprise as it had been. After he moved back to Beacon Hills, he’d gone on a few dates but nothing had ever lasted too long.

They made it there just after the usual lunch hour rush, so that meant he could stand at the counter and talk to Derek for a little bit without angry customers shouting at him to hurry up. Because Stiles was a masochist, who never knew when to back down, he kept showing up day after day, even though it was clear that Derek was way out of his league.

As soon as they walked in the door, the pleasing aroma of coffee and baked goods enveloped them. Stiles took a second to breath deep.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Erica said with exaggerated loudness, as he and Scott approached the counter. “I forgot my nametag in the kitchen. Derek, you can cover the register for me, right? I’ll just be a minute.”

She didn’t even bother to wait for any kind of reply before turning on her heel and disappearing into the kitchen.

“You know, I’m starting to get the impression that she doesn’t like me,” Stiles nodded his head in the direction of Erica’s retreating form. “She always finds a reason to leave right before I get to the counter.”

“She forgot her nametag,” Derek grunted.

“Pretty sure she was wearing it already,” he pointed out.

“Boyd’s in the kitchen, and Laura just left,” Derek elaborated. And Stiles wasn’t sure if he imagined the tips of Derek’s ears turning pink or not. “They’re just getting some alone time.”

“Ahhh!” he leaned an elbow on the counter and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Getting a little hanky-panky in the back, while the boss is away.” Then his tone turned cautious and his brow scrunched up, “Is that sanitary?”

“They, um, go upstairs,” Derek stated quickly, but Scott gave him an odd look.

“That’s a relief,” Stiles said. “I’d hate to have to call the health inspector on you—not that I would—call the health inspector on you, I mean—”

“What do you want to order,” Derek said gruffly.

 _Smooth Stiles, threaten to shut down his business by ratting him out to the health inspector,_ Stiles thought as he flinched back from the counter a little.

“Well, I’m here to try whatever sweet ambrosia you’ve created today?”

A small grin broke through Derek’s gruff demeanor, causing Stiles’s heart do a little flutter. If there was one way to break past that surly, tough guy front, it was to appeal to Derek’s creative side. Derek was an absolute genius, when it came to mixing up new flavor combinations. Sadly, there weren’t many people in this small town who could appreciate that. Stiles was always game to try something new, especially when it involved coffee and flavored syrups.

An image of Derek covered in nothing but caramel syrup that Stiles could lick off his perfectly sculpted body flashed briefly through his mind, but he firmly stamped that down. Derek was talking again and he should probably be focusing on what he was saying, instead of just staring at his luscious lips.

“As a matter of fact, I have been tinkering with something new,” Derek said. “I think it might even become part of the regular menu, if it passes your inspection.”

“Awesome,” Stiles enthused. “We’ll take two.”

“Hey,” Scott protested. “He didn’t even tell us what flavor it is yet. No offense, but I don’t want some funky jalapeno and coconut milk coffee again.”

“The Flaming Coconut was amazing,” Stiles defended. “Your palate just isn’t developed enough to appreciate the subtle intricacies of flavor.”

“Whatever, I’ll stick with my vanilla latte,” Scott shrugged. “And I’ll have two ham and cheese sandwiches on rolls and two banana nut muffins.”

“Philistine,” Stiles accused melodramatically. “And I’ll have the turkey, bacon, and avocado sandwich on an asiago bagel with a blueberry scone.”

“Coming right up,” Isaac announced, as he emerged from the back.

Even after being in a werewolf pack since high school, he had yet to get used to werewolf super hearing. Maybe it had something to do with his propensity to just blurt out whatever was on his mind.

“Sooooooo,” Stiles addressed Derek again, drawing out the vowel. “What is this new mystery drink you’ve created for me?”

“I created it for the café,” Derek countered. “You just happen to be a convenient Guinea pig.”

“Wow, I’m not even a werewolf but I could hear the lie in that,” Stiles smirked.

“It’s a S’mores Frappuccino,” Derek proclaimed smugly.

Derek might as well have said he was giving Stiles the Holy Grail. S’mores were his all-time favorite dessert. In fact, they ranked number two in his list of all-time favorite foods, just below curly fries. Heck, the only reason he bought a toaster oven was for the sole purpose of being able to make s’mores at home whenever he wanted.

Derek knew that. Stiles had told him just a few days ago and no matter what he tried to say, Stiles knew he’d made this just for him. It was things like this that made it hard for Stiles to get over his infatuation with the broody werewolf. Derek would completely ignore any attempt Stiles made to flirt with him and then turn around and make a custom drink for him based on something he’d only mentioned in passing days before.

_Yeah, talk about mixed signals._

As Isaac made their food, Derek got to work on the drinks. Much to Stiles’s impatience, Derek made Scott’s vanilla latte first. Once that was done, Stiles watched—and maybe drooled a little—as Derek combined various syrups. The final product was a work of art, topped with extra whipped cream and a little drizzle of chocolate.

Carefully inspecting the drink in front of him, he breathed in the delicious aroma.

“Just taste it already,” Derek snapped.

“Don’t rush me,” Stiles snapped back. “I’m a coffee connoisseur and I have my process.”

He took a few more moments to heighten the anticipation. Then closed his eyes and took a sip. The groan of pleasure he let out, as the first drops hit his tongue, sounded obscene even to his own ears.

“Damn, I’ve had orgasms that weren’t as satisfying, as that sounded,” Erica announced, as she strutted up to the front counter.

His eyes popped open, as he flushed with embarrassment. At least Derek wasn’t looking at him with those judgmental eyebrows.

“I think this is better than some of the orgasms I’ve had before,” Stiles enthused.

“Maybe you haven’t been having sex with the right person,” Erica said, as she stared pointedly at Derek.

His face flushed slightly, but his scowl stayed in place. Stiles thought it looked kind of adorable.

“He’s not having sex with anyone, so coffee _is_ the closest thing he’s had to orgasms in a while,” Scott snorted.

“Dude!” Stiles yelled in protest at his best friend’s betrayal.

“You don’t say,” Erica purred in interest.

Luckily, Stiles was saved from further humiliation by a large group of people entering the café. He and Scott took their food and drinks to a nearby table. Stiles was so wrapped up in embarrassment that he didn’t even realize Scott had paid, until they sat down.

“No cool, Scott, no cool,” Stiles hissed, as they sat down. “And I told you I would pay.”

“You can pay next time,” Scott shrugged. “And I was trying to help you. You know, subtly let Derek know that you’re single.”

“You call that subtle!”

They continued talking as they ate and eventually the conversation turned to his progress on finding out who was breaking onto the Martin Properties.

“What about setting some kind of trap?” Scott suggested. “I mean, like, magic the locks with some kind of alarm or something, or even the doorknob.”

“I’ve tried that,” Stiles grumbled. “But it’s like they’re bypassing every ward I put up. That’s why I wanted to do some more research first.”

“Having trouble with something?” Isaac asked cheerily from out of nowhere.

Isaac was still new to being a werewolf and was still getting the hang of proper etiquette, like not listening in on other people’s conversations. He really had to remember that werewolves had super hearing. That and the fact that they couldn’t talk about all this stuff in the open, like they used to in high school. Back then, they were the weird kids, so anyone overhearing them in the halls or the cafeteria would just ignore them. But now they were adults and both prominent members of one of the richest and most powerful packs on the west coast. And he really didn’t want to be the one responsible for leaking the news about the Martin Pack’s troubles.

“Just having some vandalism issues at my place,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a complete lie. After all, most of the places getting broken into were owned by the Martin Pack as a whole, or which he was an integral member.

“Maybe we could help,” Isaac offered.

“Nah, I’ve got it handled,” Stiles bluffed.

“I’ll be there to help him and we’ve got the rest of the pack,” Scott said smoothed over, when he saw Isaac’s disappointed face.

“Right, I keep forgetting you two have your own pack,” Isaac blushed.

“You’re new,” Stiles shrugged, glad for the subject change. “You’ll get it all figured out eventually.”

“Still it was nice of you to offer,” Scott smiled at the other werewolf.

Isaac blushed again and offered them a refill on their drinks. Stiles may not be able to smell attraction, like a werewolf could, be he was an expert on unrequited love. Isaac had it bad for Scott. Too bad Scott was straight and with Kira.

“I would love another S’mores Frappuccino,” Stiles exclaimed. “I think it might be the only drink I’ll ever order, from now on.”

“You’ll get sick of it eventually and want something new,” Derek noted, but he was already making another one.

“Never,” Stiles vehemently denied. “Stilinskis are loyal to the end. Once we find something we love, we hold on tight and never let go.”

Stiles thought Derek would make some kind of snide remark but he didn’t.

“These are on the house,” Derek informed him. “Payment for being my taste tester.”

“Ah, keeping your regulars happy, more like it,” Stiles replied.

“That is the Cardinal Rule of the service industry,” Erica noted.

“I never understood that saying, ‘cardinal rule’,” Scott chimed in. “I mean, why do we still always refer to rules made by Catholic Priests. I mean most people aren’t even Catholic anymore.”

“No Scotty, the word cardinal is based on an even older Latin word _cardo_ , meaning ‘hinge’, like a door hinge,” Stiles explained. “So a cardinal rule is a rule that all other rules hinge on. That’s where the name for the Catholic Cardinals come from too.”

“Makes sense,” Isaac nodded.

“It’s really neat actually,” Stiles continued because he loved little trivia like this. “If you go back even further, the word _cardo_ can be traced back to Cardea, the Roman goddess of door hinges.”

“The Romans had a goddess of door hinges,” Erica asked in disbelief.

“Well, not a major goddess, like Venus or Minerva,” Stiles explained, as Derek approached with his drink. “They were more like minor deities. Kind of like how angels serve God. There was a minor god or goddess for just about everything. Though the ones of the door were pretty important, because they protected the home. Cardea was the most important of the door deities because she controlled all the rest…”

Inspiration hit Stiles like a bolt of lightning. So much so, that he jumped up, knocking his chair down in the process. All the werewolves in the café were instantly on alert. Not even noticing their concern, he snatched the drink from Derek’s hand and bolted towards the door. He somehow tripped and bumped into just about every table and chair in the place, but somehow managed not to spill his drink. It wasn’t until he was outside looking for his Jeep, that he remembered that Scott had driven him there.

He turned back in time to hear Scott explaining to the others and assuring them that Stiles was fine, as he ran out after him.

“Eureka moment?” Scott asked.

“Yep!” Stiles confirmed. “I think I know exactly how I’m going to catch these suckers!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting really long, so I split it in two. The next chapter will also be from Stiles's POV and then it will go back to Derek's POV.  
> I'm going to be going back and forth between this story and my Sterek Robin Hood AU 'The Legend of Red Hood' so the updates won't be as regular as I'd like, but I will still be working on this story.  
> Special thanks to Tullia, who commented on my very first story about how coffee doesn't affect people with ADHD the same way as other people. I promised that, if I ever wrote another story involving Stiles and coffee, I would include that information. Hopefully I portrayed it correctly this time.  
> I'd also love to hear what people thought. You can comment or follow me at LuminescentLily.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4 - Stiles

 

 

As Scott drove him back to his apartment, Stiles’s mind was a whirlwind of ideas. He didn’t even notice any of the familiar scenery rushing past, too wrapped up in the plan that was starting to formulate in his head. With growing excitement, he reviewed everything he knew about the mysterious vandals, thus far. He knew they had to, at the very least, have some kind of magical help, if not be supernatural themselves. That was the only possible explanation for how they were ghosting past his protective wards.

Then there was that fact that the locks of all the vandalized properties weren’t damaged and showed no signs of having been tampered with, meaning that the culprits either had a copy of the keys or were using some kind of spell to unlock them. No one in the Martin Pack reported any missing keys, but that could just mean the vandals were smart enough to make copies and return them, before their absences was noticed. But Stiles’s money was on the looters having some kind of spell to unlock all the gates and doors. There were just too many different keys, and people who were in charge of them, for someone to take, make copies of, and return, all without anyone noticing.

Magic was a much simpler answer and one that Stiles understood. It would also explain how they bypassed his wards and the other security measures. That also meant he could use magic to trap them. Stiles guessed that whatever spell they were employing only targeted the lock—why would they even bother with anything else?—and normally that was the place Stiles concentrated his wards on as well. But his conversation at the coffee shop had given him an idea.

What if he placed a ward on the hinges of all the doors and gates of the Martin Properties? Stiles could design it to not allow them to open and set off an alarm when someone tried to. He could make it separate from his other security measures, so that the perpetrators would be less likely to notice. These vandals were good, but he doubted even they would think to look for wards on the door hinges. He could even cloak them, so that they wouldn’t notice any extra magic, until they were tripped.

So lost in this train of thought, Stiles didn’t even realize that Scott had pulled up at his apartment, until his best tapped him on the shoulder. Flailing in surprise, he nearly smacked Scott across the face but, after so many years of friendship, Scott was used to it. The werewolf just laughed and shoved Stiles out of the car, telling him that he’d call him after his shift at the hospital was over.

Once Stiles was back in his apartment, he immediately went to gather all the supplies he would need. He had various magical components and ingredients scattered all around his place. There were dried herbs and tinctures in his kitchen cupboards, crystals absorbing the sunlight on the windowsills, and occult books lying around everywhere. But the really powerful stuff was kept in a very special wooden box in his bedroom.

The box itself was a thing of beauty and yet another extravagant gift from Lydia. She had given it to him, when he completed his training under Deaton. Made primarily of Rowan (Mountain Ash) wood to keep werewolves and various other supernatural creatures out, it was further embellished with patterns of other inlaid woods. Along the sides ran an intricate design of Celtic knots intertwined with stylized Celtic wolves, done with birch and white oak. The design itself alluded to his connection with the Pack and his commitment as Lydia’s Emissary, while the birch and white oak wood symbolized strength and stability.

But the truly breathtaking aspect of it was the design on the box’s slightly curving lid. At a quick glance, it looked like a flower but closer inspection revealed that, what at first looked like petals, were actually leaf patterns of various trees related to druidic magic, inlaid in their respective woods. All the different shades and textures of the oak, rowan, maple, birch, elder, blackthorn, alder, willow, and yew woods blended together in a gorgeous piece of marquetry around a palm-sized Celtic Tree of Life, done in ebony at the center.

The workmanship was flawless. Completing it was an ornate bronze latch that a sturdy lock could fit on nicely. When he first received it, he had been a little hesitant to even use some so beautiful. That was until Lydia had sharply informed him that she had put too much time and thought into the design and finding a suitably skilled craftsman to make it, for him to just let it sit in his apartment gathering dust.

Opening the lid with reverence, he selected what he needed and threw it in his messenger bag. Next he grabbed his laptop and pulled up a list of all the buildings and properties owned by the Martin Pack. Lydia and he had been trying to figure out a pattern to where the vandals were striking but so far it appeared to completely random. In the end he decided to chose three properties at random and set up his new trap on for today.

His first stop was Martin Manor itself. So far, it hadn’t been targeted but you could never be too safe. Hopping in his beloved Jeep, it took him almost no time at all to get there. Rather than drive right up to the front, he chose to park in the back, a little ways away from the house. He did this for two reasons. The first was because he wanted to avoid Lydia’s Uncle Charles, who was a bit of a magical hypochondriac. The man was a werewolf and therefore couldn’t get sick and healed incredibly fast, but he was always convinced that some unknown enemy of the pack was casting all manner of hexes and curses on him every other week. Stiles couldn’t even be in the same room as Uncle Charles for five minutes, without the other man pestering him to check him for signs of magical tampering or to perform and exorcism on him. No, it was better to just avoid the man as much as possible.

The second reason was much more practical. He just generally didn’t like anyone—not even Lydia—to know where his wards were placed. That way, no one could mess with them. After all, you can’t tamper with something, if you don’t know where it is. There was also the sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind that someone inside the Pack might be helping whoever was behind these petty attacks. He hadn’t voiced his concerns to Lydia yet. He wanted more proof, before he started throwing around accusations like that.

Walking a quick circuit around the house, Stiles checked on his other wards to see that they were all functioning properly. He was pleased to find all his wards thrumming with magical energy, in an invisible barrier all around the perimeter of the house. He had them placed in strategic places all around house and into the woods surrounding it. A few of them were even buried among the roots of some decently aged trees to help draw on their extra connection to the earth and its power.

Going a little ways into the tree line, he dropped down to his knees and began to channel his power through his tattoo. Using his power, he coaxed the earth to open a small hole to reveal his ward inside the ground. When he was first learning magic, a simple trick like that had really impressed him, now he could do it in his sleep.

Picking up his ward, he inspected it for any damage or weaknesses. Most wards were small objects—usually crystal because of their ability to store magical energy—that the spellcaster used as a focus for the spell. Stiles had taken it a step further, combining a few different elements into one charm. The core of it was a hematite stone. Hematite—not to be confused with hecatolite (moonstone)—was an awesome mineral. It possessed all of the energy storing power of a crystal but, because of its high iron content, it could simultaneously deflect magic. The dark, metallic looking stone was also great for grounding, meaning it was ideal for deflecting attacks back into the earth, where they could be absorbed harmlessly.

Stiles had all the hematite stones in his wards carved by a gem cutter into the shape of a stylized wolf paw. It wasn’t strictly necessary to shape the stone like that, but he liked to think it helped him focus the spell more effectively. He’d even had a few hematite nails fashioned and discreetly nailed them into the frames of all the doors and windows of Martin Manor, for added protection.

Rather than leaving the wards at that, Stiles had taken them two steps forward. Wrapped around each hematite charm, were Rowan twigs that acted like a protective cage. The twigs not only shielded the charm itself against interference by werewolves and other supernatural creatures, but they also helped boost the protective magic of the wards. Tying everything together, were red cords that Stiles had painstakingly hand-woven and dyed himself, imbuing magic into them during every step of the process.

Overall, the wards weren’t purely Druidic magic, being more of a hybrid of several different forms of magic that he’d experimented with. It used to be that a person with a spark of aptitude could only learn the very specialized type of magic based on where they were from that his or her mentor passed down to them. The internet has changed all that. With access to such a broad spectrum of information, many magic users now mixed and match elements of several different magical arts. Stiles’s primary training was druidism because of all his training under Deaton, but he’d also dabbled around in lots of other types of magic as well.

His wards were a work of art, in his opinion, and he was damn proud of them. Hell, even Deaton had been impressed. Lydia, of course, was very pleased. For a while, after Lydia became Alpha, she had been forced to go to Deaton for all of her pack’s magical needs, having never trusted her pack’s former Emissary, who thought she was nothing but a shallow little girl. While Deaton had never given anyone any reason to distrust him, he knew that Lydia wasn’t comfortable around him. Deaton was a riddle, wrapped in mystery, inside an enigma, with question mark sprinkles on top, and Stiles knew Lydia hated dealing with anyone she couldn’t understand and manipulate.

Satisfied with his inspection, he placed the ward once again into the hole and closed the earth back over it. When he was finished, there wasn’t any sign that he’d ever done anything. The ground looked perfectly undisturbed and all the grass was in place. Then he moved on to check the next one.

As amazing as his wards were, the energy he poured into them didn’t last forever. Just like anything, they needed to be recharged every so often. Part of his job as Emissary, was to visit every one of their properties periodically to make sure they never ran out of power. As an added failsafe, he made sure that each individual ward ran out of power at different times that way, if one was getting low, the others could pick up the slack, so there were never any major gaps in their security.

Not that he would ever let them run that low anyways.

Once he was done checking all the wards, he got started on his real objective. It was only mid afternoon, so only a few people were home. Even if everyone had been there, it wouldn’t have mattered much. Stiles was the Pack Emissary and, if he was working some kind of magic on the house, then it was a matter for the Alpha.

Sophia, Lydia’s precocious seven-year-old second cousin, ran up to him, as soon as he walked in the door. He spent a few minutes talking with the adorable little werewolf and answered her near endless questions about what he was doing in vaguest terms possible. Thankfully, he was soon saved by the girl’s mother and allowed to get back to work.

“All right then,” he said to himself, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

Setting up the new wards proved to be easier than he’d anticipated. Doorways in general were very receptive to magic because of their liminal nature. They were portals into a home and thus very accepting of additional protection magic. The fact that he hadn’t spent all his excess power also aided him; otherwise he would have been exhausted.

He was just finishing up on the final one, when Lydia returned.

“All hail her Alphaness!” he called out, jumping up to his feet and opened the door for her, with a dramatic flourish.

“Honestly Stiles,” she sighed in exasperation, but he noticed the hint of a smile on her lips. “Don’t you think that’s gotten a little old.”

“Nah,” he smirked, following her into the house. “So, judging from the fact that you don’t look like you’re about to eviscerate someone, I take it the meeting with the Hale Alpha went well.”

“Quite well,” she said casually, but she made a quick hand gesture they came up with years ago that meant she wanted to speak with him in private. “And you. I take it you were working on something a moment ago.”

“Just checking on some of my wards,” he said, just barely avoiding an outright lie. He made the same hand gesture that she had, indicating that he would explain later, when there weren’t as many ears that could overhear them.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t speak right away. Lydia was the Alpha and as such, there was always some pressing matter or other that needed her attention. So, Stiles headed off to set up his new wards at the three random properties, promising to be back for dinner.

 

*

 

Setting up the new wards was completed with just enough time get back to Martin Manor for dinner. This time he parked in the front and headed inside, only to be greeted by his least favorite pack member.

“So, I guess you heard the news about Lydia’s meeting with the Hale Alpha?” Simon asked, before he was even through the front door.

Simon never referred to Lydia as the Alpha. One of the many reason’s Stiles disliked him. But that was another matter. Stiles had made his dislike of the other man quite apparent years ago. They had never gotten along and they never just chatted. Clearly he was fishing for information.

“Just got back actually,” Stiles replied, plastering a fake smile on his face.

“But you were here when she returned from her meeting,” Simon pressed. “I’m surprised she wouldn’t confide in you about it. You are her Emissary, after all.”

Simon was obviously trying to goad him into slipping up and bragging about what he knew. His motives were so ridiculously transparent, a two-year-old wouldn’t have fallen for it. Besides, Stiles really didn’t know anything but he certainly wouldn’t tell _Simon_ of all people, even if he did.

“We only had time for a quick hello,” Stiles answered. “Because, as Emissary, I do have quite a bit to do. Maybe you could fill me in on what I missed.”

_But you can’t because you don’t know shit!_

“Well, if you don’t know, then it’s not my place to tell you,” Simon said haughtily.

“That’s right, it’s not your place, because you aren’t the Alpha,” Stiles put the other man in his place and then brushed past, before he could reply.

Taking his place at the Alpha’s right hand, he looked around the table to see who else was here. Simon slinked in a few moments later, taking his place near the very end of the table on the opposite end as the Alpha, showing his low ranking in the pack hierarchy. But even with Simon, there was less than half the pack present. That was fairly normal for a weekday pack dinner that wasn’t a pack meeting. Several members worked late or had other obligations, so that was only to be expected that they couldn’t make it every night. Scott for one had a date with Kira that night.

The meal itself was pleasant, for the most part. Lydia’s father kept trying to steer the conversation towards her meeting with Laura Hale, despite Lydia’s rule about not discussing pack business during family dinners. But other than that, it was nice. After everyone was done eating, Lydia excused herself and asked Stiles to join her in her office. Her father tried to include himself in that invitation and was quite put out, when Lydia all but ordered him to say behind.

Lydia’s office was one of the few rooms in the house that was entirely soundproofed, even against werewolf hearing. She also had it swept for bug and other listening devices regularly. Because of all the sensitive information she needed to guard, Stiles didn’t blame her a bit for being overcautious.

“Looks like your dad is trying to play Alpha again,” Stiles noted as he plopped down in one of the ridiculously comfy office chairs.

“Yes, I’ll have to find another distraction for him soon,” Lydia replied, relaxing into her own chair. “But that’s not why I asked you here tonight.”

“I take it this is about the meeting with Laura Hale,” he guessed. “Did it not go as well as you hoped?”

Lydia was a master of hiding her true feelings, even to other werewolves, but Stiles had known her for a long time and he was fairly certain that she was pleased with how things had gone. Plus, he’d met Laura Hale a few times at Triple Swirl and she didn’t seem like any of the other asshole Alphas Lydia had dealt with in the past.

“No, the meeting was fine,” Lydia assured him. “Better than fine, in fact. But first, tell me what you were doing to the front door, when I came home. It has to do with the miscreants vandalizing our properties, doesn’t it?”

“Got it in one,” he confirmed. “And it wasn’t just the front door, it was all the doors.”

He gave her a brief rundown of his idea and how he’d placed the new wards around three other properties.

“I figure, I can do another two or three properties a day, until they’re all protected,” he explained. “That’s assuming my idea works the way I hope it will.”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” she encouraged. “It’s a sound theory.”

“Yeah, but I still have no idea who or what is doing this and, until I figure that out, I have no real way of protecting us against it,” he sighed in frustration.

“You’ll figure it out,” she stated confidently. “You always do. I wouldn’t have invested so much into, if you couldn’t.”

“Gee, no pressure or anything,” he groaned, but Lydia’s faith in him did help boost his confidence. “So, you going to tell me about your meeting with Hale, or are you going to keep me in the dark, like the rest of the pack?”

She eyed him with a knowing smirk for a minute, as if she were considering telling him or not, before dropping the bomb on him.

“Laura Hale is going to be running for a political office,” she said. “And she wants my help to get her elected.

He gave a low whistle, as his eyebrows shot up.

“We talking local government or potential White House plans here?” he asked.

“She might start out local, but I think she definitely has plans for Washington,” Lydia elaborated. “A Senator, at the very least. And I think she could get there…with the right help.”

“Your help,” Stiles said, causing a large grin to break out across Lydia’s face.

“I haven’t agreed yet,” she replied. “First I have to bring it before the pack, to see if they have any objections.”

“But you want to,” Stiles stated.

Of course, Lydia wanted to. She reveled in having power and influence over others. The only reason she never ran for any kind of office herself, was because she knew most politicians were just figure heads and that the real power existed behind the scenes.

“Even if I said yes, it would be quite a fight to get her elected in the current anti-were climate,” Lydia continued on, as if she hadn’t heard Stiles.

“A fight that you’ve been itching for,” Stiles pointed out. “You’re dying to get out there and trample all those idiots.”

Again, Lydia just smiled and continued on, “It would also bring our two packs into a very close alliance. The Hale Pack isn't very large anymore, even with their recent additions, so they would need our numbers, as well as our money.”

In the past, when two packs were going to work this closely with each other, they normally seal their alliance with a marriage. And California did just pass a law allowing gay marriage. Stiles pushed that thought to the back of his mind for the moment. Right now he needed to be Lydia’s Emissary.

“I can see why you might hesitate at that,” Stiles nodded.

“Really,” Lydia arched a brow at him. “I would have thought you would enjoy getting closer to the Alpha’s brother?”

“Oh, I was talking about Peter, not Derek,” Stiles corrected with a shudder. “That man just creeps me out.”

“To tell the truth, I found him rather…intriguing,” Lydia said, her eyes losing focus a little, as she remembered something, and a softer smile than she normally wore gracing her lips.

Stiles knew that look. Something he’d noticed about her during his years of ~~stalking~~ courting her. He’d only seen it a handful of time, when Lydia was really interested in someone, usually Jackson. Back in high school, he would have killed to have her look that way, when she talked about him. But he guessed he should have realized that Peter Hale would be her type. He was handsome, sophisticated, eloquent, and with the kind of ruthless intelligence that Lydia would admire.

Peter would be a challenge for her. Stiles just hoped that Peter didn’t prove to be too much of a challenge. Because, as tough as he knew Lydia was, she’d been hurt before and he never wanted to see her that way again.

They spoke for a little while longer, about a possible alliance and other matters concerning the pack and business in general. Eventually, it was late enough for Stiles to head home. As he walked out to his car, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as if someone was watching him. Looking back at the house, he saw the curtains of one of the upstairs windows fall closed. Shrugging to himself, he hopped into his Jeep and headed back to his apartment.

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Next up, Derek finds out about Laura's plans for running for office.
> 
> As always comments and critiques are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5 - Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to update this story. I don't even have a good reason, life just gets in the way.

 

 

After Stiles ran from the café, like a bat out of hell, Derek’s day only seemed to go further downhill. Having had his time with Stiles cut short, he was already in a bad mood by the time the next afternoon rush came in. They were slammed with the usual after school crowd of hormonal teenagers and their espresso machine nearly crapped out on them midway through. Needless to say, Derek was ready to run out the door himself, when closing time finally rolled around.

Locking everything up, they all piled into his sleek new Camaro, another bribe from Laura to convince him to agree to move back here. Most of the time, cars were more of a burden in a city like New York, so he’d never had one before. Now, speeding down the deserted back roads, he could appreciate what a joy it was.

“Slow down you maniac!” Erica hissed from the front passenger seat, her right foot pressed firmly against the floor, like she was trying to slam on an imaginary brake pedal. “Any minute now, some little woodland creature is going to run out onto the road, you’ll swerve to avoid it, and end up killing us all in a horribly painful death!”

“Thanks for that visual,” Isaac blanched; his hands close to ripping through the leather seats in the back. “That’s just what I wanted to think about, at the moment.”

“We’d survive the crash,” Derek assured them.

“That’s not comforting,” Isaac protested.

“I just want to get home faster,” Derek sighed.

“I’d like to get home alive!” Isaac whimpered and both Boyd and Erica nodded in agreement.

Sighing again, he eased his foot off the gas slightly but he was still going well over the speed limit.

“You know you’re little boy-toy’s father is the Sheriff, right?” Erica asked. “Getting pulled over for speeding doesn’t exactly make the best first impression.”

Just for that, Derek sped up again. Luckily for them, Derek pulled up to the house a few moments later.

Even though the pack had been living in it for months now, the rebuild Hale House still didn’t feel like home to him. Part of him wished that they could have built their new house in a different place. It was just so disconcerting to drive up the same old road and see all the familiar scenery, only to pull up in front of a completely new and different house. But this was their land and it was only right that they rebuild here.

As soon as Derek came to a stop, the younger Betas were rushing and stumbled out o the vehicle. Isaac looked like he was ready to kiss the ground in relief.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Derek frowned.

“I’ve been on rollercoasters that were less terrifying than driving with you,” Boyd stated.

“We are definitely talking to Laura about getting another car,” Erica huffed. “Or, at least, dividing up the driving privileges.”

 _Like I’d let any of you drive my car._ Derek thought with a snort.

“Get inside and get changed,” Derek ordered. “Training in the back yard in five.”

He leapt up the front steps to a chorus of groans and protests.

“You’re trying to kill us!”

“No fair!”

“Just give us a little while to relax!”

He just smirked and went inside.

A quick check of the house for Laura and Peter led him to the study. They were deep in discussion but abruptly went silent, when he approached.

“Hey Der-bear,” Laura greeted him with a bright smile. “How was running the café by yourself today?”

“Well, I didn’t rip anyone’s throat out,” he answered casually.

“That’s always a good sign,” Peter smirked.

“Derek,” Laura chastised.

“Everything was fine,” Derek stated and then tried to change the subject. “How did the meeting with Alpha Martin go?”

“Rather well, actually,” Laura replied with genuine pleasure. “We still have to wait for her final decision but I think she’s leaning towards yes.”

They still didn’t mention what they purposed to the other Alpha and Derek knew better than to press the topic. Instead, he tried a subtler approach.

“What was she like?” he asked.

He’d heard a lot about the infamous Lydia Martin, since they moved back. Most of it was probably exaggerated but, if even fraction of it were true, she was a force to be reckoned with. Though Stiles always spoke well of her. Then again, he was her Emissary, so he couldn’t exactly complain about her in public.

_Then again, there are plenty of Alphas with fearsome reputations that are actually nice people, once you get to know them._

“Lydia Martin is quite an Alpha,” Peter answered in a tone he usually reserved for his own accomplishments.

Derek shuddered to think what a terrifying person she must be to put that kind of awed, reverence in his uncle’s voice.

“She’s sharp,” Laura confirmed. “She might even be smarter than Peter.”

“I’ll admit that our intelligence might be on an equal level, but she doesn’t surpass me,” Peter conceded.

Both of Derek’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline at his Uncle’s comment. In his entire life, Derek had never once heard his Uncle even suggest that someone could possibly be anywhere near his equal. He would never talk ill of what little family he had left, but he could admit that Peter was a bit of a narcissus. To hear him so openly and so easily refer to someone matching his intelligence was akin to seeing a cat stand up and tap-dance.

“You got that good a read on her from just one meeting?” Derek asked.

“Well, I’d done quite a lot of digging into her back ground first, but meeting her in person definitely solidified my opinion of her,” Peter mused.

“Should we be worried about having the two of them in the same room?” Derek inquired.

He could only imagine the level of epic catastrophe two people like his Uncle in the same room as each other could cause.

“Very,” Laura smirked. “But I think it’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“I am more than capable of restraining myself,” Peter responded. “Given proper incentive.”

The tone Peter used dripped with innuendo and double meanings, most of which Derek didn’t want to even consider.

The conversation stilted a little after that, until Derek finally spoke up.

“I have to go train the Betas,” Derek coughed and shifted impatiently. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“Peter and I still have some things to discuss, so I think we’ll order some pizzas,” Laura suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Derek shrugged. “Let us know when it gets here.”

Then he turned and went to hunt down the other three members of his pack.

 

*

 

Training with the new Betas was one of Derek’s favorite ways of blowing off steam, after a long day. The sheer physical exertion helped clear his mind, while simultaneously strengthening their pack bonds, pleasing his inner wolf. Not that the other Betas often saw it that way. To them, training was just a code word for being used as Derek’s punching bags. They didn’t yet understand that roughhousing like this was an important part of establishing their place within the pack hierarchy. Then again, it was always harder for bitten wolves to adapt to their new instincts, or so he’d always heard.

He was never unnecessarily brutal in their sparring, but he didn’t baby them either. He wanted to make sure that they were strong and could defend themselves against any threat. If he had to break a few bones to drill a lesson home, then they would heal just fine in a few hours.

And he liked to put them in their place, whenever they got a little too uppity. He hadn’t forgotten Isaac’s teasing from earlier and took great pleasure in knocking him to the ground for the fourth time in as many minutes. Isaac had improved a lot in the last few months, but he still had a long way to go.

Boyd too was getting better, especially in learning to use his size to his advantage. He’d nearly pinned Derek to the ground more than once, in their recent training sessions. But, of the three, Erica was by far the most skilled fighter. She was natural fighter; quick, agile, and vicious.

They were all steadily getting better individually, but they still didn’t have the hang of working together, as a unit. Derek might have more experience, but even he wouldn’t have been able to defend against a coordinated attack by all three of them.

“You know, just because you’re sexually frustrated, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the rest of us,” Erica groaned an hour later.

He was about to argue but was interrupted by Laura calling out from the back porch.

“PIZZA’S HERE!”

“Salvation!” Boyd exclaimed panting heavily.

“Thank God,” Isaac nearly cried. “I don’t think I could have taken much more.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Derek huffed. “If you put a little more effort into it, you might enjoy it more.”

“Not all of us are masochists, like you,” Erica shot back, brushing herself off.

The four of them made their way inside to where Peter and Laura were already waiting in the living room with the pizzas. Dinner was very informal in their Pack and they only ever bother to eat in the dining room, if someone actually cooked something.

However, just because dinner was a pretty relaxed affair, didn’t mean there weren’t certain rules that needed to be followed. Number one was that the Alpha always got first pick of whatever they were eating. It was pretty much ingrained in their wolf psyche. Once Laura had selected what she wanted, it went by order of pack hierarchy. That meant Peter went next.

But of course Peter had to turn everything into a production and was taking his sweet time picking out which slices he wanted. Derek was certain that Peter was doing it on purpose.

“It’s pizza, not brain surgery,” Derek growled in frustration. “Just pick a slice and let the rest of us eat, before we die of starvation.”

“Now, now Derek,” Peter taunted. “Don’t be rude. There’s plenty here, you only have to wait your turn.”

“Well could you hurry it up,” he sighed. “Before it gets cold.”

“Patience, puppy,” Peter smirked and selected his food.

“Those three are younger than me,” Derek pointed to Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, as he reached to grab a few slices. “Why don’t you ever use that annoying nickname on them?”

“Because it bothers you more,” Peter explained. “Besides, you’ll always be a puppy to me.”

“That’s because you’re old,” Derek retorted, taking a bite.

The rest of the meal continued along this line with lots of teasing banter. Erica and Isaac recounted the day’s events for Lara with their typical flare, while Boyd occasionally cut in to curb some of their more creative flourishes. Throughout the entire meal, Peter and Laura pointedly steered the conversation away from the meeting with Lydia Martin, until after they’d finished eating.

Everyone was just getting up to put their dishes away in the sink, when Laura called out to him, “Derek, Peter and I would like a word with you.”

There was a hesitation in his sister’s voice that gave him pause and he nervously followed them into Laura’s study. 

“Is this about whatever it is you and Peter have been _hiding_?” Derek inquired a bit harsher than he intended to.

“We haven’t been hiding anything per say, jus—”

“Yes,” Laura confirmed, cutting Peter off. “So please, have a seat.”

He slumped down into one of the large leather chairs but was far from comfortable in it. They were about to drop a bomb on him. He could just feel it in the air and see it in the way that they were both tense and uneasy. Like they were already bracing for his bad reaction to whatever it was. Then again, they could simply be reacting to how tense and uneasy he was. For months, he’d been wracking his brain, trying to think of what could be so terrible that they had to keep it a secret from him.

Instead, Laura opened with, “What do you know about politics?”

Not expecting something like that, he replied automatically, “Pack politics or government?”

“Government.”

“I guess I know about as much as the average person,” he answered neutrally.

Laura had double majored in Political Science and Business Management in college and Derek had always helped her study, so he knew how government worked. But whenever any discussion turned to something like that, he tended to just let Peter and Laura debate the issues, while he sat back and listened. The truth was he tried to avoid politics as much as possible. Most of it was just the same old garbage of old men, with fake smiles, telling people lies, while taking huge bribes from corporations. He voted and signed petitions for good causes, but he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who went to rallies or spent all his time listening to commentators on the news.

“Then I suppose you’re aware that many of the laws still in effect today are still very discriminatory towards our kind,” Laura pressed.

Derek snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

Werewolves were still generally paid much less than most other worker, even when they did twice the work. Heck, there were some states that still had laws allowing people to hunt werewolves though, to be fair, those kinds of laws aren’t common and rarely enacted these days. But they still existed. And, of course, there were all those anti-were groups out there, preaching that werewolves are the spawn of the devil and that we should be exterminated. They picketed funerals and showed up outside cinemas to protest movies with werewolf actors in them.

“What if we could do something to change that?” Laura asked carefully. “What if we could help make a difference?”

“You mean like join some kind of werewolf rights group and hold fund raisers?” Derek wondered.

Laura shook her head, “Something a little more involved than that.”

A sinking feeling gripped his insides, as he waited for Laura’s next words.

“I’m thinking of running for office.”

For a moment, Derek just sat there in shock, before his brain kicked in again. It made sense. Laura was smart, ambitious, and great with people. She was just the kind of person that would draw people to her cause and someone that other Alphas could respect. California was the perfect place for her to get ahead as well.

Laura speaking with the Martin Alpha also made more sense now. The Martin Pack practically owned half the state as it was, so it only made sense to align their two packs together for something like this. And, as well off as their own pack was, they couldn’t even come close to the kind of money the Martin Pack regularly threw around. They could bankroll a political candidate without so much as a dent in their bank accounts.

But it was so much more than simply getting the money to run for office. Politics was a dirty business and trying to win important offices often led to a lot of collateral damage on both sides. The media loved to blow every little issue out of proportion and delighted in any kind of scandal involving a candidate. Or a candidate’s family. Because if Laura did run for office, it wouldn’t just be her life that would be put under a microscope, it would be the entire pack’s.

As soon as Laura announced her intent to run, there would be people opposing them, studying their pasts, looking for anything that could be used against them. The fire would probably be in the news again, though that would only draw support for Laura. But the pain of having to go through all that again, the questions and sympathy, would be unbearable.

While these thoughts were whirling through his mind, Laura had still been taking about all the good she could do in office.

“—a fair wage for fair labor law at the very least would—”

“What about the pack?” Derek cut in, when he found his voice again.

“I won’t be leaving for Washington tomorrow or anything like that,” Laura assured. “My plan was to start locally and see how things went from there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek snapped. “You’re the one running for office but it will affect us too.”

“Yes, it will,” Laura agreed. “It would bring up quite a few challenges. There aren’t that many werewolf politicians—even fewer female werewolf politicians—so I will probably generate a lot of attention. Our past will no doubt be brought up on more than one occasion.”

“People will love that,” Derek fumed. “Another sob story for people to fawn over in the news.”

“One that could prove quite useful for us,” Peter commented.

“Peter!” Laura chided.

“Oh, it’s not as if the though hadn’t occurred to him already,” Peter countered.

“What about our time in New York,” Derek added. “I didn’t exactly live like a monk back then. If the press find out, won’t that hurt your image?”

“Quite the opposite,” Peter explained. “Every politician has a black sheep member of the family these days. It makes them look like the responsible ones and draws attention away from any of their own faults. Besides, you have a clean record and you’ve never done anything too embarrassing. No arrests and no drug habits. Unless there’s something you didn’t tell us that we should be aware of?”

“I was never arrested or did drugs, Peter,” Derek scowled at him.

“Of course you didn’t,” Laura stated. “What Peter means to say is that we’ll all face a fair about of scrutiny and contempt, even if we were saints.”

“Paparazzi on front yard and people recording every word we say to twist it on the news later,” Derek grumbled.

“All that and more,” Laura agreed.

He was silent for a moment. One particularly sour though had entered his mind and he was almost afraid to voice it.

“What about Jennifer?”

“What about her?” Laura asked a little confused.

“She was a con artist, with a criminal record, and I dated her,” he grunted.

“I’ve already considered that,” Peter chimed in. “I have several friends in some of the larger media outlets that I plan to feed little tidbits to now and them. Once Laura starts gathering some popularity, I’ll leak the information about Jennifer to a few of them. When they run the story, we can issue an immediate statement on the matter and nip the story in the bud, before it gains any traction.”

“But all of that shouldn’t concern you yet, because we don’t even know if Alpha Martin will even agree to back us,” Laura interjected.

“She’d be stupid to say no,” Derek declared.

“Thank you,” Laura smiled. “But right now, I’m more concerned about what you have to say.”

Not quite understanding, he just gave her a blank look.

“What I’m trying to say is that I won’t run, if it’s something you truly don’t want,” Laura promised. “We all know that you and Peter will be the ones people try to attack in the media and I know how much you hate the attention. If you’re truly uncomfortable with that, then I won’t run.”

For the second time that night, Laura had thrown him for a loop. Laura was the Alpha and she decided what was best for the pack. Yes, a good Alpha would always consult with the rest of the pack and try to make decisions that wouldn’t put any of the members in any kind of distress, but at the end of the day the decision was ultimately up to her. The fact that she was willing to let him have the final say in such an important decision as this, both touched and terrified him.

“You don’t have to decide now,” she went on. “Take some time and think about it first. We still don’t even know for certain whether or not Alpha Martin will even agree to support us, so there’s no use worrying about it until then.”

He barely heard her, his mind still preoccupied with the enormity what she said.

He _really_ didn’t want this. All the attention and media recognition. It would be a living nightmare. The absolute worst kind of hell he could imagine.

And he could end it all, before it even started.

But then he looked over at his sister and could just see how excited she was for this. He’d always known that she was meant for more than being the owner of coffee shop in some little town like Beacon Hills. She really could make a difference. She had the same caring heart and iron will that had made their mother such a respected Alpha. And she would succeed in helping their kind, of that he had no doubts, especially with Peter at her side.

He couldn’t destroy her dreams just to avoid a little bit of unpleasantness.

“We’ll do it,” Derek decided. “Even if Alpha Martin says no, you’ll run for office and we’ll stand behind you.”

“Derek,” Laura sighed in exasperation. “I told you, you don’t have to decide right now—”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Derek interrupted. “This is what’s best for the pack.”

In truth, he was afraid that, if he had any more time to think about it, his fears would get the better of him and he’d end up talking himself out of it.

“Derek,” Laura chided.

“Obviously, the boy’s made up his mind,” Peter observed. “When have either of us ever been able to dissuade him, once he’s made up his mind?”

“True,” Laura conceded. “I just wish you would take some time to really weigh the options.”

“I have,” Derek asserted.

“Then I guess we should inform the others,” Laura declared.

Laura stood and went to tell the other Betas the news. They were overjoyed at her pronouncement and eager to start brainstorming ideas for her campaign slogans.

Even though he was still uneasy, he knew he’d made the right decision. He’d just have to keep a mental image of this happy moment in his head, when the other shoe dropped. Because it would. He had no illusions about what was to come. Maybe not right away but, if Laura proved to be as popular and inspiring as he knew she would be, then it would be a tough fight. But they would be ready for it.

Catching Peter’s eye, he knew that Peter was thinking the same.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. It was a little short, but things should really start picking up from here.
> 
> Comments and critiques equal love!


	6. Chapter 6 - Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with this story. Sorry it's taken me so long, but I was on a roll with my other story "The Legend of Red Hood" and I didn't want to lose my momentum. I hope this chapter makes up for the long absence.
> 
> Also, there's a lot of history for how Lydia became Alpha in this chapter.

 

 

Being Alpha wasn’t always a walk in the park but there were days, when it was more enjoyable than others. Pack bonding days were one of them.

Lydia tried not to meddle in the lives of her pack too much. After all, most of them were older than her and were perfectly capable of running their own lives. And she had no desire to become one of those controlling Alphas that pushed their pack to the point of rebellion. But, once she had firmly established herself in her position as Alpha, she’d reinstated the tradition of pack bonding days, just like her grandfather before her.

So, every other Sunday, the entire pack would gather together for a day of training, spending time together, and generally catching up on how everyone was doing. It was also the time when most official pack business was discussed and any major decisions were debated. She always took that time to announce any major changes she was making and allow anyone to question or object to her decisions. Ultimately the decision was hers, but she knew that it was important to let her pack members have a say and to explain things to them. A pack meeting was also the perfect time to bring up Laura Hale’s offer.

While there was more than enough room for everyone in the pack to live at Martin Manor, not all of them did. She never force anyone to stay there, if they wanted a little independence. Some packs are traditional and stay under one room, but she always understood the need for privacy. No one was obligated to live there, but many of them did. Still, with everyone having their own busy schedules, they could sometimes go days without seeing each other, even if they lived together.

Currently the entire pack, minus a few members, was gathered in the back yard going through some basic training exercises. Self defense was important to the survival of a pack and a little friendly sparring helped establish a well defined hierarchy. She never expected every member to be a martial arts expert, but she made sure they all knew how to defend themselves, whether they were human or werewolf.

Today’s training was going very well. Lydia was particularly pleased with two adolescent members of the pack, who were showing real intelligence and a remarkable amount of control for their young ages. She made a mental note to speak with their parents to see how they were doing in school. Most packs had a tendency to glorify their strongest members (much like the school system glorified athletes), but Lydia was determined to foster intelligence in her pack.

“Man, Scotty-boy has really been working on his moves,” Stiles observed from next to her.

As her Emissary, Stiles was also present at every pack meeting, unless a dire emergency came up. He even trained with them, like all the other human members of the pack. She found it motivated the humans to try harder and helped teach the wolves how to hold back their strength. Stiles was even pretty good, despite his klutzy tendencies.

“Yes, he’s been putting a lot more effort into training in recent weeks,” Lydia replied neutrally.

The truth was that she was also impressed with Scott’s performance lately. Scott had never been much of a fighter (he was a pacifist at heart) but when he did, he tended to just blindly charge in and rely too much on his physical strength. The last few pack training sessions, he had done his best to think through his moves and increase his standing.

Lydia knew that the real reason behind Scott’s sudden drive was because he wanted to be in her good graces to ask about accepting Kira into the pack. Scott had been dating the Kitsune for almost four years and she had it on good authority that he’d recently purchased an engagement ring. Smiling to herself, she marveled at how transparent Scott could be sometimes.

A marriage between a werewolf and a Kitsune was far from unheard of, but there were certain protocols that needed to be followed to avoid any kind of conflict. First Scott would have to formally ask his Alpha, if Kira could join the pack. Then Lydia would need to speak with the head of the Yukimura Clan, Kira’s mother Noshiko Yukimura, for her blessing. Of course, Lydia and Mrs. Yukimura will say yes. Scott and Kira were crazy about each other, anyone could see that. And it was mutually beneficial to both parties, bringing the Martin Pack and the Yukimura Clan into a solid alliance.

 _It could also have the added benefit of helping to bring Kitsune support to Laura’s campaign._ She thought. _The Yukimura Clan was one of the oldest Kitsune families in the world and had a lot of influence in the supernatural community._

Kitsunes weren’t as well known, or as persecuted as werewolves, but they were similar enough that any restrictions imposed on werewolves could have some adverse effects on them as well.

Stopping that train of thought abruptly, she realized that she was already thinking in terms of having accepted Laura’s proposal. On a little further reflection, she admitted that, yes, she had already made up her mind and that this week’s pack meeting was really about convincing the rest of the pack.

Werewolves were insular creatures, by nature. Their first priority was always their own pack, to the exclusion of everything else. Most are even reluctant to do anything that would endanger their pack, even for the sake of the species as a whole. A very narrow world view in Lydia’s opinion. It would difficult, but she knew she could sway them. All she had to do was appeal to their logical side and remind them of all they have to lose, if certain radical laws are passed.

A howl of pain drew her attention back to her pack, just in time to prevent a simple mistake from escalating into a full brawl. Deciding that they’d had enough training for one day, she announced that it was time for a run. They always ended a training session with a run in their shifted forms. Some packs only shifted on the full moons, when the pull was strong, but Lydia found that shifting outside of full moons, or when they were angry, helped her pack learn better control.

These runs also gave her an opportunity to reinforce her authority as Alpha, in a subtle way. Beta werewolves, and most Alphas, could only transform in their face and hands, what was called a Beta form, but Lydia was one of the few Alphas that could shift completely into a wolf. It was a rare distinction that gave her considerable standing in the supernatural community. As far as she knew, there were less than a dozen Alphas in the Western Hemisphere (including Laura Hale) who could do it. Learning how to fully shift hadn’t been easy, but it was worth it. Besides that, Lydia thrived on challenges.

Looking around, she was displeased to see that not everyone was there for the run. Some members could be excused, if they had good enough reasons, but no one had informed her of any this week. Typically, Simon was absent. No doubt he was up to no good, wherever he was. But more troubling was her father’s absence. Her father, Donald Martin, had been showing an alarming amount of insubordination lately. She would have to address that later.

Stripping off her workout clothes without a shred of modesty, Lydia quickly shifted in front of her pack. When Lydia shifted into her full world form, she became a gorgeous wolf, with a thick, glossy coat of rich auburn colored fur, just a few shades darker than her normal hair color. But more than her looks, was the sense power that rolled off her wolf form in waves. Some of the more pig-headed members of her pack might still doubt her ability to lead them while in human form but, once they were shifted, their inner-wolves knew she was the Alpha. They obeyed her without hesitation.

Leading them out into the woods behind Martin Manor, she could hear the pack’s (including some of the human members) howls harmonized into a joyous song. It was a long but uneventful run. They weren’t hunting, only running for the pleasure of being out in nature and together as a pack. They ran for over an hour, though quite a few returned to the house, before the end.

When she finally led the last of the pack back to the house, her father was waiting on the back porch. Irritation flared up inside of her at the sight of him. Shifting back into her human form, she was acutely aware of the advantage he had over her at that moment. Standing there, in an impeccably made suit, he towered over her naked, petite frame. He looked like an Alpha at that moment and she didn’t. She could have simply stayed in her wolf form, but she wanted to know why he missed a pack training session and run.

“I’m sorry for being late, hon,” he greeted with a patronizing smile, as if she were a child and not his Alpha. “The head signatory on the Hernandez-Nelson account insisted on having lunch last minute today, to discuss some details, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know how it is, Princess.”

“I’m well aware of these things can go, but I wasn’t aware that you had anything to do with the Hernandez-Nelson account,” Lydia countered smoothly, not wanting to lose her temper in front of the pack. “In fact, I specifically remember assigning that account to—”

“But I was the only one in the office and he wanted to speak to a Martin,” he cut her off. “Wouldn’t want to lose one of our biggest clients, now would you.”

“Of course not,” Lydia replied with false sweetness, inwardly seething that he dared to interrupt her. “But I expect a phone call at the very least to explain you absence in advance.”

“Like I said, it was all last minute and I knew you wouldn’t mind,” he shrugged. “Besides, I managed get most of the final details worked out. All that’s left to do is sign the contracts. So, it really was worth missing _just one_ training session.”

“I suppose it was,” she replied tightly. “Now, I think I’ll go shower before dinner.” She held his gaze firmly, until he backed down and moved aside. But even that small show of submission wasn’t enough to make up for her father’s growing level of disobedience.

She understood that her father had been upset at not inheriting the mantel of Alpha on her grandfather’s death; so had most of the men in the pack. But eventually, she’d shown what a competent and fearsome Alpha she could be and they’d quieted down. For a time, after she’d finished college and she had substantially increased the Pack’s holdings, things had run smoothly and everyone seemed to have wholeheartedly accepted her as Alpha.

Recently however, her father had started employing petty little power games. She had ignored them, at first, but then he started to escalate his efforts. He started referring to her by ridiculous pet names, when she was acting in her capacity as Alpha, even though he’d never used them with her before. He was constantly going around her direct orders but always had a valid excuse for doing so, leaving her unable to object to his actions. It infuriated her because she couldn’t punish him without seeming like she was being unreasonable. Losing her temper and shouting at him would only make him seem more like a calm and sensible adult and she like a spoiled child, who was upset at not getting her way. And not many others in the pack would stand up to him, when they saw him disobeying her orders, because he was one of the highest ranking members of the pack.

She could use her powers as Alpha to bring him to heel, but that would only make her seem domineering, in the eyes of her pack, something she’d been trying to avoid, ever since she took power. It also didn’t help that her father still had a lot of sway with the older members of the pack, who might still harbor grudges at being ruled by someone as young as she was. They also deeply resented that she turned more to Stiles for advice, rather than asking her elders for their “wisdom.”

Feeling a migraine coming on, she made her way up to her rooms and into her master bathroom. Quickly setting the water to the right temperature, she stepped under the spray and tried to let the hot water wash away her stress. But it didn’t work and her mind kept drifting back to memories of when she first became Alpha.

 

***

 

_Things had been good for her in the year leading up to her grandfather’s death. She had been Beacon Hills High reigning Queen for three years, with a perfect boyfriend and the best GPA in the school. Then, midway through her senior year, her grandfather had passed away. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a sad occasion but not something life changing. Except that they hadn’t been normal circumstances, because her grandfather had also been the Alpha of the entire Martin Pack._

_To everyone’s shock, the person who had inherited the Alpha title and powers wasn’t her father—who had always assumed that he was Alpha Heir—or any of her uncles and cousins, but Lydia._

_She remembered the exact moment it happened. Remembered the rush of power flooding her system in a glorious rapture. In the space of a heartbeat she went from being an underappreciated little girl to an Alpha._

_Finally! She had thought. Finally they’ll see **me**!_

_Except, when she had opened her eyes, the sight that greeted her was shock, horror, and even anger. Immediately everyone had started talking. Some said it was some kind of mistake, others moaned about the danger they would all be in, with such a weak Alpha, and still others shouted accusations at her, as if she had somehow stolen what was rightfully hers._

_Her father had immediately stepped in and announced that he would handle all the pack business and finances, until a time when she was more capable to lead. The tone of his voice had suggested that he thought that time—if it ever came—would be many years away. The worst part was that he hadn’t even been condescending or controlling, when he said it. He had just genuinely thought that she was too stupid to handle the responsibility._

_It was that last one that had hurt the most. Part of her had wanted to run away and cry but a larger part—the Alpha in her—had been furious. Her commanding roar had rung out through the mansion, shaking the windows and setting off car alarms. Her entire family had cowered and bared their necks in submission. The human part of their brains might not have respected her, but their wolves knew better._

_It was her mother—daughter of the former Alpha—who had finally stood up for her._

_“The power of an Alpha doesn’t make mistakes and cannot be diverted from the one who is most worthy to lead,” her mother had intoned. “Any **mistake** is made on the part of the Betas, in not trusting their new Alpha.”_

_After that, everyone had been rushing to assure their new Alpha of their loyalty, however grudgingly. Once everyone had settled down, she had snuck out of the house and fled._

_Fled to Jackson._

_Jackson: the werewolf who had been adopted and raised by humans. Jackson: the werewolf, who truly didn’t know what it was to be a part of a pack. Jackson: who had always needed to be number one and had hated anyone who could beat him at anything._

_Despite what everyone had said about them, Lydia had genuinely loved him—her first love—and she liked to think that he had felt something for her as well._

_To his credit, he had at least tried to hide his jealousy and his anger. But he hadn’t been nearly as good at hiding his emotions as he thought he was. Especially not from her._

_After everything that had happened that day, she hadn’t been able to handle any more. Not from Jackson. So, she had run. She had run far into the woods, until she wasn’t even in Martin Territory anymore. She had run, until her heels broke and her skirt tore. She had run, until she had finally collapsed in tears. She had cried for hours, big racking sobs, with her mascara running down her cheeks, shuddering with every labored breath._

_It had been Stiles who found her, of course. Geeky, flailing, talkative, wonderful Stiles. To this day, she still had no idea how he’d tracked her down or how he had even known that she needed him. But he had been there and he held her, as she cried and had been exactly what she needed._

_She had known that he’d always been in love with her. People had thought she was cruel, the way she had ignored him, but the truth was, that she had been trying to spare him. She had known that the two of them would have never worked and ignoring him had been kinder than stringing him along with false hope. It was sad really. He was the only one who had ever seen the real her, just like she had always wanted, but she just couldn’t love him back. His scent was too sweet and warm, like candy and sunshine and a soft blanket. He smelled like family and comfort, but not like mate. And the wolf in her wouldn’t be appeased with that._

_She had wished she could love him. Wished that her wolf would accept him as her mate._

_She had even told him as much, along with everything else. She had seen the hurt in his eyes but she had also seen understanding. He may have been human, but his best friend was a werewolf and he was almost as smart as she was. He knew that she was as much wolf as human and she couldn’t accept a mate that satisfied any less than both sides of her. And even more than that, he was a genuinely good person. He didn’t think his kindness entitled him to her returned affections and didn’t simply abandon her, when she hadn’t reciprocate his feelings._

_Most boys would have just left her there and gone off to nurse their broken heart but, instead, he had looked her right in the eye and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”_

_She had smiled at that. Not the fake smile she plastered on her face at school or for her family, but a real, heartfelt smile._

_The first part of the plan had been to go back to the Whittemore house. Jackson had still been mad at her for being an Alpha, when he was a mere Beta, but he had been downright furious that she only came back to speak with his father and not him. Mr. Whittemore, on the other hand, had jumped at the chance to become the personal attorney for the new Alpha, of the Martin Pack. An hour later, she had been confident that she had enough legal standing to take back control of her Pack’s finances._

_The second part would require Stiles’s help. She had been hurt and angry at her pack’s reaction, but not hurt and angry enough to miss the resentment and envy, in the eyes of some of her cousins. She had known that one of them would challenge her for the title of Alpha, as soon as they got her alone, and she doubted that they would do it fairly._

_By pack tradition, Betas of the pack had one week to challenge a newly made Alpha, without fear of reprisal. Since the only way to get an Alpha’s power was to kill them, it meant that they couldn’t be charged with murder, if they succeeded, and that no one in the pack could seek vengeance. It was a pretty rare occurrence in modern times but not completely gone._

_While she knew that she was powerful with her new Alpha strength, she hadn’t had have enough experience fighting to properly use that strength. That’s where Stiles had come in. The previous year, he had been identified as a Spark, a human with the potential to wield magic. He hadn’t had that much experience either, but he was able to work with certain substances that werewolves couldn’t. He could also shape those substances into something she could use._

_Stiles had initially wanted her to hide out at his house, surrounded by a circle of Mountain Ash, until the week was up, but she couldn’t. Not only would she have appeared weak, but she would have also lost any respect she might have had with the few loyal members of her Pack. “How can an Alpha be expected to protect their Pack from outside threats, if they’re afraid of their own Betas,” she had asserted._

_He had tried to argue more, but she had made up her mind and the next morning she had returned home for the family breakfast. The meal had been uncomfortable, to say the least. They were technically in morning for their previous Alpha, so everyone had used that excuse to stay quiet. She had been fairly certain that no one would challenge her that day. They no doubt had to build up their courage and they probably wouldn’t do it in front of her father, who would have protected her, if only because she was now his main link to authority within the Pack._

_However, she surprised everyone by ordering a pack meeting. Her first order of business was to present her father the papers she’d drawn up with Mr. Whittemore the night before, and demand that he turn over all the pack’s finances to her. When he tried to argue, she had informed him that her attorney had already filed an injunction to freeze all the pack’s assets, if he didn’t comply. Stunned and unprepared, he’d had no choice but to do as she’d ordered._

_Once everyone knew that she had control of the money, she had turned the discussion to the burial arrangements for her grandfather. Again, her father had tried to steer her away, claiming that he would handle it, but she had refused to budge. Seeing to the proper burial of the former Alpha was an important responsibility for the new Alpha and one of the most important first tests that the pack would judge her on. When she had seen a few impressed nods at her assertiveness, she had known that she’d made the right decision._

_If her father had been surprised at her bold and decisive action, the rest of her pack had been downright stunned. They had never seen this side of her before, and they certainly hadn’t known what to make of it. A few of them had even spent the meeting gaping at her, as if she’d grown a second head._

_After that, she had headed off to school. She had never been more grateful for school than she had that week. It became her refuge. Even the stupidest members of her pack weren’t stupid enough to attack her at school. School had also been the place where she could plan her next moves. For that entire week, she sat with Stiles during lunch and spoke with him in the halls, every chance they got. Rumors had abounded about their new relationship but they both ignored them. If it was even been possible, her new Alpha status had elevated her even higher on the social hierarchy. Whispers and stares had followed her threw the halls and talk about her being an Alpha more than overshadowed any talk about how she and Jackson had broken up._

_Stiles had outdone himself with what she had asked of him and, if nothing else, she knew she had at least one true friend in him. By then, she had already known she would one day make him her pack Emissary. She might not have wanted him as her mate, but she definitely wanted him in her pack and she couldn’t think of a better position for him than as her trusted advisor._

_What she hadn’t counted on—though she really should have seen it coming—was gaining a loyal Beta werewolf as well. Scott and Stiles were a package deal and always had been. Scott had been an Omega but he had possessed all the qualities of a good Beta. He was loyal and caring and fairly good at following orders. She hadn’t know much about how he had become an Omega, only that there had been some trouble with his former pack and that his human mother had won custody of him and moved them out to California._

_With her new fledgling pack, she had felt ready to face what was ahead._

_Time had seemed to fly by rapidly, after that. With the help of her mother, she had quickly put together the plans for a large but tasteful funeral for her grandfather, to take place at the end of the week. Once that had been finished, she addressed any other pack business that needed the attention of the Alpha._

_At first her father had tried to dazzle her with their family’s large amounts of money and confuse her with complex business terms, but she had always been a quick study. And, even though Coach Finstock was one of the worst teachers, she had been a very good student. In no time she had the basics figured out, and had even puzzled out how to apply some of her beloved mathematical formulae to her problems._

_The surprise of her assertiveness in that first morning had probably bought her the next few days of peace. Not that it had felt peaceful to her, at the time. She barely slept that week, not that anyone but Stiles noticed her fatigue. The day of her grandfather’s funeral was the deadline for her Betas to challenge her. The day before, Stiles had convinced her to cut her last few classes and get some sleep at his house, with him and Scott on guard duty._

_She was thankful that she had agreed otherwise she might not have survived her grandfather’s funeral. It was there that her would-be assassins chose to strike. She had just gotten up to say a few words, when she sensed someone approach her from behind._

_A low growl and Stiles shouting out her name had been the only warning she received. She had spun around, just in time to see her younger cousin Simon charging her. Thinking fast, she had pulled a small aerosol can out of her pocket and sprayed it directly in Simon’s eyes. Pepper spray was bad enough but Stiles had infused this one with wolfsbane for her. Simon was down and he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon._

_Before she could celebrate her victory, the strong arms of Simon’s older brother, Alex, had wrapped around her torso and started to crush her, claws digging into her sides. Rage had welled up inside her and she stabbed her Mountain Ash tipped stiletto heel into her attacker’s shin. Then she had gathered her strength and broke free of his grip. The sickening snap of bones let her know she had hurt him._

_The next few moments had been a blur. All she could remember afterwards was standing over the prone forms of her cousins Alex and Simon, her claws at both of their throats. Her wolf had howled for their blood immediately but her logical human side had waivered. Her Aunt Vivian—mother of Alex and Simon—had rushed forward begging and pleading for Lydia to spare her sons. She had ordered them to yield to her and accept her as their Alpha, but they had arrogantly refused. Again her Aunt Vivian had begged her for mercy and the entire pack had waited to see what she would do._

_She hadn’t wanted to kill them. Not because she couldn’t—the Alpha in her was more than ready to spill their blood—but because her pack would have hated her for it. They would have understood, but they would have never forgiven her for it, all the same. And her position as Alpha had still been too precarious for that. Instead, she had exiled them for a year. For one year they hadn’t been allowed in the pack’s territory and would be Omegas. They had been given whatever belongings they could carry and $300 but they had to leave California completely. During that year, they hadn’t been allowed to contact anyone in the pack or anyone connected with the pack. They hadn’t even been allowed to use the Martin name. Anyone caught helping them or even contacting them would have shared their punishment._

_A year to the day of when she’d banished them, Simon had returned, with his tail between his legs, and asked to become part of the pack again. Lydia had allowed it. Alex, however, hadn’t returned. He hadn’t survived the year on his own. The information she received had been sketchy at best but, from what she could piece together, Alex had apparently tried to challenge a young Alpha of a smaller pack and had been defeated. The other Alpha hadn’t been as merciful as Lydia and Alex had been killed for his insolence. They weren’t even entirely sure which Alpha he had challenged or what had happened to his body. Her Aunt Vivian had been devastated, but thankfully, no one in her pack had blamed Lydia for his death. She had given him more than enough chances._

 

***

 

Taking a deep, calming breath, she pushed those thoughts away. She wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. She was Lydia Martin, one of the most powerful and respected Alphas in the country. She would deal with her father, just as she had dealt with him back then. She’d worked too hard to make this Pack great to let someone else swoop in and benefit from her hard work.

Feeling more confident, she turned off the shower and went to get dressed. Pack dinners weren’t very formal, but Lydia always liked to look her best. She chose a light blue slip dress, to reflect her improved mood, and let her hair fall over her soldiers in loose ringlets, with only a touch of eyeliner and mascara. Pleased that she had achieved the right affect, she headed down to the dining room.

She could smell the food from upstairs and her stomach gave a small rumble. On pack meeting nights, she always ordered a large catered dinner, full of all the pack’s favorites. Naturally there was plenty of meat—cooked very rare—but there was always an assortment of other delicacies, as well. Lydia took her place at the head of the table, with Stiles at her right, and watched as the entire table filled.

The meal went well, with only one incident at the beginning. Her father had tried to make an off-handed comment about working up an appetite making money for the back and tried to take a piece of food, before Lydia had taken her portion. There had been a few shocked gasps, at the breach of protocol but, luckily, her mother had put a hand on his arm in caution and her father realized that he had pushed a little too far.

For now.

After an exquisite dessert, Lydia had all the plates cleared and opened the table to the discussion of pack business. The discussion began cordially enough, talking about school grades and upcoming vacation and anniversary plans. At one point, Uncle Charles (really great uncle Charles, but he didn’t like the reminder of how old he was) stood up and announced that a warlock had been trying to sneak into his dreams at night and manipulate his thoughts for the past week. Everyone just rolled their eyes, as these outlandish claims were quite commonplace from her magic-fearing uncle.

“I’m sure Stiles would be happy to look into it,” she told her uncle solemnly. Next to her, Stiles groaned, but Uncle Charles seemed satisfied with that.

Next they moved on to business. Everyone in the Martin Pack contributed a portion of their income to the Pack, which Lydia invested, so that they could also draw on the Pack funds, whenever they needed anything important. It assured that all the pack members had money for college and down payments for cars or houses. All additional requests for money went through Lydia and, if they were reasonable, then she approved them.

Lydia gave a concise report on all the pack’s investments. There hadn’t been any major changes in the pack’s finances and businesses in the last two weeks, so there wasn’t much to report. Though that didn’t stop her father from butting in on every issue.

“We really shouldn’t be investing in that stock, it’s not nearly as stable as the ones I purposed,” her father announced.

“They’re not supposed to be stable,” Lydia fought the urge to growl. “I specifically set up that account to trade on the more uncertain stocks—the high risk, high reward stocks—so that, if they do go down, they won’t affect any of our other investments.”

“We probably shouldn’t even be wasting money on those,” Donald Martin waved his hand dismissively. “We should stick with ones we can rely on to show increased profit every year.”

“No company can have increased profits every year, unless they’re cooking the books,” Lydia countered. “And those kinds of scams always collapse, to the devastation of those who invested with them. That was how the country landed in this recession in the first place.”

Before he could argue any more, she switched to a new topic. Her father was a good businessman, but not a great one. He lacked initiative and imagination. Left up to him, the Martin Pack would have stuck to the same old tried and true businesses of the past, many of which were dying out now, because of new technologies. Lydia wanted to create something new, to venture into unknown waters. True, more than half of the new businesses Lydia invested in failed but, the ones that succeeded, more than covered her losses and, in the end, they always came out on top.

Once Lydia was finished with their business summary, she opened the floor to any requests. There were two requests for money to remodel a kitchen and repair a roof, which she granted immediately, but the third request of money for a new car she denied.

“This is BULLSHIT!” Simon yelled, and smashed his fist down on the table. “Everyone else in the family gets money for a new car.”

“Everyone else hasn’t already totaled the last two sports cars mommy and daddy bought for them,” Stiles countered snidely.

“I won’t squander pack funds to indulge our whims, when so far you’ve done nothing to earn them,” Lydia declared.

Several others around the table, even her father, nodded in agreement. Ever since he’d returned from exile, Simon had been spoiled rotten by his mother and father. They felt guilty for abandoning him to exile and tried to compensate for the death of one son, by indulging the surviving son’s every wish. Though, at least the rest of the pack recognized his flaws, even if his parents were blind to them. The ungrateful little retch had just flunked out of a third college and was back living at the Manor, contributing nothing. Lydia did her best to curtail his excesses, but there was only so much she could do, when his parents sheltered him from everything.

“Killing Alex wasn’t enough, now you want to watch me suffer too,” Simon accused, before he knocked over his chair and stormed out of the dining room, like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Alpha, I beg you,” her Aunt Vivian cried. “Could you at least find him a job, at one of our businesses? College wasn’t right for him, but you don’t see how smart and hardworking he is. He’d do phenomenal, if you just gave him a chance.”

“Vivian,” Lydia sighed. “The best I could do, is give him an entry level job.” She held up her hand to stop her aunt’s protest. “He doesn’t have the education for the executive jobs. If he really is as smart and hardworking as you say, then he should have no problem working this way to the top, just like Carter did.” Lydia motioned to her third cousin once removed, who had dropped out of high school, gone to work in one of their lumber yards, and was now the foreman in charge of all operations.

On the verge of tears, Aunt Vivian turned to Lydia’s mother, her sister, and pleaded, “Lillian please.”

“The Alpha has made her choice,” her mother stated firmly. “And I think it’s a fair one.”

“But he’s not used to that kind of work,” Vivian protested.

Stiles snorted and Lydia just barely stopped herself from smiling at him for it.

“He’s a werewolf,” Uncle Charles chimed in. “Humans do that kind of work every day, without any trouble. Unless he’s completely stupid, or too lazy, he should be able to handle it just find.”

There were more than a few murmurs of agreement. Knowing she would find no sympathy at that table, Vivian just nodded and excused herself to go after her son.

Lydia threw a grateful look to her mother for her support and then moved on. Next on the agenda, was the mysterious looters that had been defacing their properties and businesses.

“Yes, I think I can speak for everyone, when I say we want to know what is being done about this,” her father announced pompously.

“We’re working on several options,” Lydia began. “I’ve contacted several specialists who are combing through their records for any similar cases they’ve run into. I’ve also instituted a night guardsman to patrol each of the properties. And Stiles has developed a new protection ward, he’s designed specifically for this situation.”

Everyone was very interested in hearing about Stiles’s new wards. She had spoken with him the night before and they both agreed that they would keep the specifics of the ward between them. Even if there wasn’t a traitor within the pack, that didn’t exclude the possibility of someone accidentally revealing pack secrets. For now they would keep their cards close to their chest.

Stiles was able to keep his explanations vague and only mention a few of the parameters of his spells. Nothing that any decent spellcaster wouldn’t have been able to guess, just from know it was a protection ward.

“I’m concerned that these measures won’t be enough?” her father pronounced.

“If you know of anything else we could be doing, I’m open to suggestions,” Stiles spoke up challengingly.

Her father didn’t have a reply, all he did was deflect with a statement about how this wasn’t his area of expertise.

Once that was out of the way, she moved on to what this meeting was really about.

“As all of you know, I had a formal conference with Alpha Laura Hale, two days ago,” Lydia started. Instantly the table was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, even without werewolf hearing. That quiet was abruptly shattered by her father.

“If she thinks she can come back, after all these years, and expect us to bow down to her, then she’s sorely mistaken about how far we’ve come, now that were not under their thumb,” Her father suddenly declared hostilely. There were several enthusiastic agreements.

 _Of course you make it sound as if I had nothing to do with the Pack’s new prosperity._ She thought with annoyance. Looking to her right, she could tell Stiles was thinking the same thing.

“If you had let me finish,” Lydia began again, giving her father a sharp look. “You would know that Laura Hale has absolutely no intention of trying to subjugate us. Instead she offered a proposal. Laura Hale wants to run for a political office, to help fight against the rising number of anti-werewolf legislation that radical splinter parties have been trying to get through Congress recently. And she would like the Martin Pack’s support.”

At her pronouncement, the entire table erupted in conversation. Lydia let it go on for a few moments, before she flashed her eyes to call everyone to order. Once everything was settled, Lydia called on pack members one at a time, to voice questions or objections.

Much to her father’s annoyance, she called on her mother first.

“What kind of platform is Alpha Hale campaigning on?” her mother inquired. “What issues specifically will she be dealing with?”

“Laura Hale will be running on werewolf specific issues, the first priority of which will be instituting a fair work wage for werewolves,” Lydia answered.

Lydia noticed quite a few pleased faces at that, but she didn’t linger too long, before getting to the next question.

“I assume she wants us to pay for her trip to Congress,” her father sniffed.

“We will be one of her contributors, but we won’t be her only one,” Lydia had been expecting that question. “We give tens of thousands to various pro-wolf political causes every year, this is no different. And she won’t be going straight to Washington. We were thinking of something a little more local, at least at first.”

“We?” her father pressed.

“In addition to our _support_ , Alpha Hale has asked for my help in running her campaign,” Lydia announced. “It would be a great opportunity to make more connections and to ensure that the money we contribute actually goes towards the causes that we want.”

There were several excited murmurs about that. Her father looked like he was about to ask another question, so she moved on to someone else. She spent the next two hours answering questions and debating the benefits vs. the hazards.

“Can she actually win? There aren’t that many werewolf politicians out there?”

“All the more reason for our kind to rally behind the few there are.”

“What about any scandals. You can’t turn on the news these days without some politician doing something stupid.”

“From what I’ve seen of Laura Hale, she’s far from stupid. And I’ve already commissioned my own background check into her and her entire pack, just to be certain.”

“What will the danger be for the pack? There are plenty of anti-werewolf hate groups out there.”

“Most of the danger and threats will be focused on the Hales. However, I’ve also contacted a security specialist to assess any possible threats.”

The conversation seemed to last for days. Many of the younger pack members were excited for the idea, but some of the elders were still uncertain. A few were concerned that they shouldn’t take on something like this, when they were already dealing with a tricky situation because of their mysterious vandals. Others were scared of potential political backlash and preferred to avoid any potential threat to the back at all. In the end, the majority of the pack was in her favor, for which she was glad. As Alpha, she could have overridden their objections and done it anyway, but she didn’t want to upset the Pack too much, at the moment.

With the issue finally settled, everyone headed off to bed or to their own homes. Lydia stood by the front door to see them off and wish them a goodnight. On the way to her own room, she made a quick detour to her study. She had promised to call Laura the next morning with her decision, and it was late, but she didn’t want to wait. Before she could change her mind, she tapped the contact on her phone and listened to it ringing. If no one answered, she could always call back in the morning.

It rang three times, before the line was picked up, but the voice at the other end of the line wasn’t Laura Hale.

“Alpha Martin,” the velvety rich voice of one Peter Hale crooned in her ear. She was very glad that a person’s scent couldn’t travel over phone lines, or she would be quite embarrassed right now. “What a pleasure to hear from you. We weren’t expecting your call, until tomorrow.”

“Well, I could always hang up and call again in the morning,” she teased, surprised at how easily she could fall into playful banter with him.

“No, by all means, stay on the line,” Peter chucked. “Interesting conversation is a rare commodity and I relish the opportunity to experience it with you.”

“Alas, I only called for a quick chat,” Lydia responded. “I thought I would relieve Alpha Hale of some of her anxiety to know that I, and my pack, have decided to endorse Laura’s run for political office.”

“Outstanding, Laura will be thrilled to hear it,” Peter exclaimed. “I suppose we should set up another meeting to talk specifics.”

“I was thinking the same,” Lydia replied. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“I don’t believe you’ve been The Triple Swirl yet, have you?” Peter inquired. “It would be a great way to acquaint you with the rest of our pack and give you a feel for the kind of image Laura wants to present. And the coffee’s not too bad either.”

“Yes, my Emissary has been talking about little else, since you first opened,” Lydia laughed. “Did you have date and time in mind?”

“Tomorrow for lunch,” Peter answered instantly.

“So soon?” she bantered.

“I’m not one for wasting time,” Peter replied, with the slightest hint of a growl.

“Lunch tomorrow sounds perfect,” Lydia replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in the bottom of her belly. “See you then.”

“I look forward to it.”

Handing up her phone, she sank back into her office chair and pondered the flirtation she seemed to have started with Peter Hale. He was very handsome, and witty, and more than a little dangerous. She couldn’t deny the obvious chemistry between them, but she had to be careful how she handled it.

She’d had several small flings, since the end of her relationship with Jackson, but nothing serious. All of them were with undeniably handsome men, who had satisfied her in the bedroom, but nothing lasting. She was an Alpha and as such always had to but her pack first, to the devastation of her personal life. Most of her past flings had always ended because they had wanted more of her time than she could give, or had been under the mistaken belief that they could manipulate her to their own benefit. But Peter Hale was already an important member of a high ranking pack. One soon to become even more powerful, as Laura rose higher in the political realm.

A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if Peter might have been a contributing factor into why she was so keen to endorse Laura, but she pushed those thoughts aside. She was in this for the betterment of her Pack and her species. Getting to spend time to figure out the riddle that was Peter Hale was only an added bonus.

And she was an Alpha to her core. She wouldn’t throw herself at Peter Hale. But, if he was interested in seducing her and he proved worthy, she might be persuaded to allow him into her bed. They were both adults and could have an affair and still work together professionally.

With that pleasing thought, she retired to bed and a well-deserved rest.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome and encouraged


	7. Chapter 7 - Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to warn people now, I don't really have any idea how political campaigns are run, outside of what I've seen on TV. If anyone ever sees anything wrong with how I portray it or had any suggestions, I'm all ears.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

Stiles awoke the morning after the pack meeting with his face pressed against his laptop keyboard. He’d spent another long night researching undetectable supernatural creatures, only to be awaken by the shrill notes of Lydia’s ringtone. Answering the phone on reflex, he rubbed a hand down his face and prayed his drool hadn’t damaged any of the inner components of his computer.

“’Lo,” he yawned.

“Another all-nighter,” Lydia stated, not needing an answer. “It’s a good thing I decided to call first, before coming over to pick you up.”

“Pick me up for what?”

“I’m meeting with Laura Hale again today,” Lydia explained. “And, as my Emissary and most trusted advisor, you’ll be joining me.”

“…what?”

“Shower and get dressed,” she ordered “I’ll be there in half an hour. And we’re going to Triple Swirl, so don’t worry about dressing too fancy. Though, do try and look respectable.”

“What do you mean, I’m going with you?” he asked. “When did you even set up this meeting?”

“Last night, after the pack conference,” she answered and Stiles could almost feel her shrug through the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he protested, his heart rate increasing.

“Because you have a tendency to panic and overthink things,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Now, go get ready. You’re wasting time.”

“Wait! Lydia! LYDIA!” he cried out.

She had already hung up.

“Crap!”

Half tumbling out of his computer chair, Stiles dashed to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and flinging them about as he went. Showering as quickly and thoroughly as he could, he cursed stupid werewolf noses and their delicate sense of smell. If it were only humans, he could have cut his shower time in half and had more time to decide what to wear.

Rushing back into his room still half wet, he frantically rummaged through his closet for something appropriate to wear. Lydia had told him that he didn’t have to look too fancy, just respectable, but her definition of respectable and his were two different things entirely. He figured business casual was a safe choice. Besides, he wanted to make a good first impression.

 _Though, it’s not actually a first impression, if you’ve already met before._ He thought distractedly.

He’d seen Laura Hale, and occasionally Peter, around Triple Swirl a bunch of times, but he’d never had a real conversation with her or been formally introduced. Either way, he was going to be there in his official capacity, as Lydia’s Emissary, and he needed to look the part.

There were several articles of clothing that would fit the bill but he eventually narrowed it down to a white button up shirt, a grey plaid vest, and a pair of dark jeans Lydia bought him last Christmas. The jeans were a little tight, but Lydia told him they looked great on him and he trusted her judgment, when it came to clothing.

Then he rolled his shirt sleeves up to his forearms, revealing his tattoos. He debated with himself about whether it would be disrespectful to show them, but he reasoned that they were just a symbol of his magic. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to have a visible reminder of his abilities, during this meeting, considering how people always tended to underestimate him. Besides, Lydia would tell him to change, if she didn’t like it.

Glancing in the mirror, he thought he looked okay, though his wet hair was all over the place. Running his fingers over his scalp, he contemplated whether or not he should just buzz it all off again, like he used to do in high school.

He didn’t have time to dwell on that last thought, as Lydia’s ringtone started blasting from his phone again. Grabbing his glasses, he stopped for a moment, before also taking a plain hematite thumb ring. There probably wouldn’t be any need for magic at this meeting, but it was better to be safe, than sorry. And hematite was always a good thing to have around, in his opinion.

Rushing down the steps, he almost ran right into Lydia’s hired car, before the driver could open the door. Inside, Lydia was poised elegantly on the seat in a navy blue pencil skirt and a peach colored blouse that complimented her hair. Even dressed casually, she looked better than most runway models, but maybe he was bias.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he dutifully spun around, so she could see the full effect of his outfit. “Do I pass inspection,” he asked in a board tone, though he genuinely wanted her approval.

“Not bad,” she admired and he climbed in next to her.

Just as they were pulling away, he felt his pockets and realized he’d forgotten something. “Wait up a sec, I forgot my wallet.”

“Don’t worry about it Stiles,” she assured him. “I imagine they’ll already have food waiting for us. If not, I’ll cover it.”

“First Scott and now you,” he protested. “I do have money of my own, you know.”

“I know,” Lydia smirked. “I’m the one who pays you. Now, stop sulking and give me an update on your new wards.”

He gave her a brief summary of his progress. Thus far, he’d been able to ward about 60% of all Martin properties, all the residences and about half of the commercial properties and offices. So far, there hadn’t been any incidents on the properties he’d warded, but that wasn’t necessarily proof that they were working.

“I’m hoping that the news about Laura Hale’s election will distract the rest of the pack long enough for me to get a handle on this whole situation,” Stiles confessed. “Or at least give me a little breathing room.”

“Just don’t run yourself too ragged,” Lydia cautioned. “So far these vandals haven’t done any serious damage. And we still have a few contacts that haven’t gotten back to us, yet. Who knows, we might have the answer in a few days.”

“Here’s hoping,” Stiles nodded.

While it would be great to know what they were up against, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to be the one to solve it. He wanted to prove that he was worth all the faith that Lydia placed in him.

“Oh, stop sulking, we’re here,” she pointed out. “When we get inside, just follow my lead. We’ve agreed to support them, but there are still a few details that need to be worked out.”

“Got it,” Stiles nodded.

Getting out, Stiles trailed behind his Alpha, as they walked to the front doors. Normally, he would go ahead and hold the door open for her but, since he wanted to make an impression, he used a bit of magic to open both doors, as they approached. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward, but she didn’t say anything.

Stepping inside, he stopped for a second to let his eyes adjust from the outside light and to breath in the comforting scent of coffee. The last week had been a little hectic for him, setting up all the new wards. So much so that he hadn’t even been able to stop by there at all for his regular caffeine fix. He’d had to settle for instant coffee— _yuck!_

They were five minutes early, but Laura and Peter were already waiting for them at one of the larger tables in the back, with a platter of assorted pastries and sandwiches. His stomach gave a small grumble at the sight, reminding him that he hadn’t had breakfast yet.

Looking around, he saw Erica and Isaac behind the counter, serving the usual lunch hour rush of customers, but Boyd and Derek were nowhere to be seen. He tried not to let his disappointment show too much and reminded himself that he was here on business, not to socialize.

As they approached the table, Laura and Peter rose to greet them.

“Alpha Martin,” Laura greeted, extending her hand to Lydia.

“I thought we agreed to use first names,” Lydia smiled, as she clasped Laura’s hand in her own. “Otherwise it will be quite awkward working together.”

“Of course,” Laura agreed, then turned toward Stiles.

“I believe you already know my Emissary, Stiles,” Lydia introduced.

Stiles stepped forward to shake hands with the Hale Alpha, extending his tattooed arm. Normally, he kept them covered but there were certain occasions when he liked to see how people reacted to them. Dealing with other packs was one of them. To her credit, Laura only hesitated for a fraction of a second, before accepting his hand.

“And you know Peter,” Laura gestured to the well-dressed Beta, who held himself back.

It was on the tip of his tongue to make some snide remark about how much Peter’s goatee made him resemble a James Bond Villain, but he held back. He was supposed to be acting like an adult, like Lydia Martin’s Emissary. That meant being on his absolute best behavior.

“Please, have a seat,” Laura motioned to their table. “I took the liberty of ordering a selection of food, but we waited for you, before getting drinks.”

“Splendid,” Lydia announced.

Stiles went to pull out a chair for Lydia, but Peter beat him to it. He looked to Lydia uncertainly, but she didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest, so he didn’t press the issue. A second later, Isaac appeared to take their orders. Well, to take everyone else’s order, since Isaac informed him that Derek had created another drink for him to try.

“I think he called it a snickerdoodle something,” Isaac scratched his head.

“Sounds great,” Stiles enthused, looking over at the doors leading to the kitchen, hopefully.

“It is a lovely little place you have here,” Lydia casually observed, once Isaac headed back behind the counter. “Though I’m rather surprised at the concept of waiters at a coffee shop.”

“Oh, they don’t normally do that,” Stiles chimed in absently, bringing his attention back to the table.

“That was my doing,” Laura explained. “I had originally planned to have our second meeting someplace a little more appropriate to the topic at hand—”

“Nonsense,” Lydia interrupted. “The Triple Swirl is the perfect place, considering that it will be one of the first building blocks for your image. Besides, formal settings tend to force people to behave formally, and we don’t want that.”

“My argument precisely,” Peter beamed.

“I see your point,” Laura conceded. “I just didn’t want to get the impression that I was insulting you. After all, a cafe of all places isn’t exactly the ideal place to discuss politics.”

“Actually, coffee houses have a long history with politics and major political change,” Stiles argued. “Before coffee and tea, everyone drank alcohol, which just slowed you down and killed brain cells. But caffeine energizes people and puts their brains into gear. That got people talking and coming up with radical new ideas. More than a few revolutions got their start over a couple cups of coffee.”

“Except we aren’t planning a political upheaval,” Laura laughed.

“I disagree,” Lydia stated. “We’re going against the established order of things. That, in and of itself, is a kind political upheaval, though on a smaller scale than all out revolution.”

Before their debate could get any more heated, Isaac retuned with their drinks. Stiles was slightly disappointed that Derek didn’t bring his out himself, but he was curious about Derek’s knew creation. The smell of cinnamon coming off it was strong, even to his nose, and again his stomach let out a small rumble. But he had to wait for his Alpha to go first.

As the guest Alpha, it was Lydia’s right to eat first. Lydia, of course, took her sweet time stirring her tea, before selecting an assortment of pastries and sandwiches. Next was Laura, who was far less picky. To his surprise, Peter Hale then deferred to him, allowing Stiles to choose first. He was shocked for a moment, before remembering that his position of Emissary could occasionally outrank Betas of another pack.

 _I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that I can outrank someone who could literally rip me to shreds._ Stiles thought, as he grabbed a few pastries.

Once that was done, they all took a few moments to enjoy their food, something that Stiles’s stomach was extremely grateful for. The first sip of his drink was just as sweet and cinnamon-filled as he’d though it would be, though Derek had somehow managed to balance in the other flavors. By some wonder of culinary skill, Derek had managed to capture the light buttery flavor of a cookie, without making it taste like he was drinking actual cookie dough. Though the drink itself was maybe a little too sweet—even for him.

After they had taken the edge off their hunger, they got down to business. Mindful of Lydia’s earlier order, he stayed quiet and watched how things played out.

“I suppose the first topic we should discuss is exactly what part I would play in your campaign,” Lydia began delicately. “You did imply that you want more than just my financial support as a donor.”

“Yes,” Laura responded immediately. “I can admit that—even being an Alpha with a degree in political science—I’m woefully unprepared for the realm of politics, but you have quite a bit of experience at it. Peter is already my campaign manager, for obvious reasons, but I would want you as part of my staff, in one of the more important positions.”

“Though you wouldn’t mind the money, as well,” Stiles grinned to lighten the mood a little.

“Not at all,” Laura smiled.

“Did you have a specific staff position in mind,” Lydia inquired.

Stiles stifled a laugh at how that wording could be twisted into something dirty.

 _Get a grip Stilinski!_ He berated himself. _You’re supposed to be a powerful and mature Emissary, not a twelve year old._

“Media Manager,” Peter answered. “Specifically with regards to Laura’s image and branding.”

“So you want me to run your Facebook page,” Lydia challenged.

Stiles paid close attention to Laura and Peter’s faces. He knew one of Lydia’s tests, when he heard one, and he was curious to see how they handled it. Unlike most people, they didn’t back down from Lydia’s challenge.

“It would entail significantly more than that,” Laura asserted. “You would be in charge of all my interviews, press releases, and the like.”

“Though viral marketing would be a factor,” Peter added. “As well as working as a fashion consultant. Millions of dollars are spent every year on research into what fashion of clothing or style of hair appeals to most voters. As you well know, when it comes to campaigning, perception is reality.”

At those last words, the Famous Kennedy-Nixon debates popped into Stiles mind. Back in the 1960s, televised debates were still new and not many politicians understood the importance of their image. Nixon certainly hadn’t, but Kennedy had. Before the debates, Kennedy had gone out and gotten a tan, bought a perfectly tailored suit, practiced his smile, and even used makeup, like an actor. Nixon, on the other hand, had just gotten out of the hospital and was pale, thin, and weak-looking. After the debates, there had been a poll taken on who people thought had been the most convincing candidate. The majority of people who had only listened to it on the radio said that Nixon was the clear winner, but people who watched it on TV overwhelmingly said Kennedy. Since then, the importance of a politician’s image and representation in the media had only grown.

“Back in your grandfather’s day,” Peter continued. “The Martin Corporation was well known and respected in Northern California, but almost unknown beyond that. Since that time, you’ve managed to turn Martin Corp. into a household name, known for its quality products and cutting edge technologies. It’s that kind of reputation we want you to build for Laura.”

Lydia appeared to ponder the new information for a moment, before responding. “If I were to accept the position, there would be some conditions I'd require.”

“Such as?” Laura asked neutrally, leading Stiles to believe that she had been expecting this.

“For starters, I would need to have complete control over your wardrobe,” Lydia declared. “Specifically buying you an entirely new one.”

There was a disgruntled noise from over at the front counter that he was certain came from Erica, but both Lydia and Laura ignored it. Laura kept a straight face, but Stiles could see a few small muscle twitches that told him how much she was holding back.

“Before you take that the wrong way,” Lydia elaborated. “Let me say that I have no doubt you are perfectly capable of picking out clothes for yourself, but you haven’t made a study of fashion and the effect that certain clothing has on people, like I have. As your uncle said, perception is reality. I know exactly how to dress to get the kind of reactions from others that I desire, most of which is so unconscious that people don’t even realize how the color of a shirt or the fall of my hair effects them. I’m not saying it’s the sole reason for my success, but my “fashion sense” is one of the most effective weapons in my arsenal. And it is a weapon that you will certainly need.”

Lydia’s words seemed to strike a chord in Laura, who looked Lydia over with a more critical eye. On the other side of the Triple Swirl, Erica and Isaac—and now Boyd—weren’t even trying to hide how they were studying his Alpha, much to the annoyance of the customers waiting in line. And he was pretty sure he saw someone else peek through the door leading to the kitchen.

“I see your point,” Laura admitted.

“I would also want to oversee all speech writing and have carte blanche in planning press events and fundraisers,” Lydia continued.

“As long as I have the final say on what I actually say, I would welcome your input,” Laura bristled slightly. “And as for fundraisers, you would have to coordinate with Peter, on that issue.”

“Agreed,” Lydia smiled, and Stiles just knew that she had gotten more than she’d hoped for out of the negotiation.

“Now that that is settled, I suppose our next topic of discussion should be the extent of the alliance our packs will form,” Laura put forth.

_And here’s where things get tricky._

In the old days, packs would form alliances to defend against a common enemy, mostly hunters. Now, while formal alliances were rarer, they still occurred. Mostly as part of business mergers or to settle territory disputes. Under those kinds of circumstances, there were usually lawyers and all kinds of contracts involved.

“On behalf of the Hale Pack, I would welcome a formal alliance with the Martin Pack,” Laura intoned, in an almost ceremonial voice, then continued a little more hesitantly. “But I would know the extent of your commitment to the old traditions.”

“Old tradition?” Stiles echoed, not quite understanding.

“Inter-pack marriages,” Peter answered simply. “In most cases, alliances like this are solidified with a marriage.”

“Right, of course, almost forgot about that part,” Stiles nodded uneasily.

“I have no interest in subjecting a member of my pack to an arranged marriage with a stranger, for the sake of politics,” Lydia proclaimed. “I think we are all sufficiently evolved enough to form a lasting alliance, without resorting to such an outdated mechanism. However, if any of your Betas were interested in one of mine and if the attraction were mutual, I wouldn’t object to the relationship.”

Relief flooded Laura’s features. “I couldn’t agree more. Now there is the matter of an official contract—”

“If I may,” Stiles cut in. “I think we should forgo any kind of paperwork, in this case.”

“What!” Lydia and Laura both exclaimed at the same time.

He’d been thinking about this ever since Lydia mentioned the possibility of a pack alliance, even though he knew she wouldn’t like it. In all the time that Stiles had known Lydia, she had never been anything less than meticulous at everything, but particularly in matters of business. She always insisted on everything in writing and in triplicate. She was also a lot more traditional than she like to believe. To convince her to trust in just another Alpha’s word and a handshake would be tricky, but he would have to try.

And also avoid being skewered by Laura Hale, who looked ready to rip his throat out.

“It has nothing to do with not wanting to be associate with you pack,” Stiles assured Laura. “More, not wanting you to be seen as associated so closely with our pack.”

“I don’t understand?” Laura glared.

“That makes two of us,” Lydia added, arching a brow at him.

“I believe I do,” Peter interjected with an impressed look on his face. “It’s a matter of politics. Human politics, to be exact. There will already be allegations of corruption and bribery because of our partnership. Right from the beginning, people will assume that you have promised the Martin Pack all kinds of political favors in return for funding. Any kind of explicit paperwork would only add fuel to the fire and could have serious repercussions on Laura’s chances.”

Stiles saw recognition dawn on Lydia’s face. Any kind of contract would been seen as some kind of conspiracy by the other side and they would use that to convince people that Laura was just as corrupt as they were.

“That’s ridiculous,” Laura disagreed. “All we would have to do is explain that it was a pack alliance. People aren’t stupid.”

“You mean the same people who still believe that President Obama isn’t really a US citizen, even after he was forced to release his birth certificate,” Stiles put in. “Those people.”

“Especially with some of the wording that goes into pack alliance contracts,” Peter continued. “All those sections about pack loyalty and coming to the aide of another, regardless of other commitments. That kind of language alone could be easily misconstrued and turn public opinion against us.”

“I see your point,” Laura sighed in defeat. The frown on her face reminding him so much of Derek that he almost wanted to coo. “Very well, there will be no official paperwork—for now—just my word, if that is sufficient for you?”

“It is,” Lydia consented. “As I hope mine is for you.”

“Yes,” Laura nodded.

“Just look at it this way,” Stiles joked. “Now you don’t have to waste time, sitting in a room going over paperwork with some blood-sucking lawyers, just to sign a few papers.”

“I’d be offended, but you’re quite correct,” Peter grinned.

“Of course, you’d turn out to be lawyer,” Stiles winced. “I should have seen that one.”

After that, the conversation turned to what office exactly that Laura would be running for. At first they had decided that she should start off running for Mayor, as it would be a good testing ground and an even better position to further campaign from, but then Peter dropped a bomb on them. He had information that a certain State Congressman from their district would be stepping down shortly to avoid some sort of scandal. Something involving a few very embarrassing voicemails that had fallen into the wrong hands. Either way, it meant that his seat would soon be open and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that?” Stiles queried.

“Despite what you might have heard about me,” Peter protested. “Not every despicable deed can be traced back to my doorstep.”

It wasn’t exactly an answer to his question, but Stiles had a feeling that was a good as he was going to get.

With their goal now firmly established, they discussed the specific issues that Laura would run on. Their first priority would be a fair labor law that would pay werewolves a fair wage, when they did the work of three people. Laura then started to go off on more ideas, like forest preservation and bans on wolf hunting.

“Let’s not get too carried away,” Lydia cautioned. “Successful campaigns succeed because they stay focused on one core issue. Most people have very short attention spans, so concentrating on one issue at a time keeps them from getting confused and overwhelmed.”

Next they discussed funding. Of course Lydia and the Martin Pack would donate as much as they were legally allowed to but there were limits to how much an individual and a corporation could contribute. They had to be very careful to not let even the slightest whiff of impropriety reach the opposition.

“We’ll need to hold a fundraiser, as soon as possible,” Lydia advised, pulling out her tablet.

Peter also pulled out his phone and showed the screen to Lydia, “I’ve already started assembling a list of possible invitees. Shall I forward it to you, so we can compare?”

“Please,” Lydia answered.

“Don’t you think it’s a little premature for that,” Laura worried. “The Senator hasn’t even announced his plans to step down yet.”

“All the more reason we should be ready to go the instant the announcement is made,” Lydia countered. “It will give us the advantage and, as the newcomer, you’ll need it.”

“Preparing in advance also gives us a little breathing room, in case anything goes wrong,” Peter added. “You can never plan for the unexpected, but you can be prepared to handle everything else to make things a little easier.”

Peter and Lydia then started brainstorming specifics for the first fundraiser, like venues and menu selections. From there, they moved on to poster designs and slogan ideas, leaving Stiles and Laura behind in the dust. The two of them even started talking about going to scout out locations for possible campaign headquarters, after lunch.

It was a little disconcerting for Stiles to see Lydia taking to someone, as quickly as she was taking to Peter Hale. For so long, he’d only ever seen Lydia be cool and aloof from business partners and romantic partners alike. Particularly from romantic partners. But, seeing her with Peter Hale was something completely different. It wasn’t anything blatantly obvious. She wasn’t simpering and fawning over him like a schoolgirl. No, it was the subtle things. The way she seemed to lean in towards him ever so slightly, when they talked, or how her the corners of her mouth twitched upward into an aborted smile every so often. And—though he might be reading too much into it—he could almost swear that her eyes glinted a little brighter, when she looked at him.

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the situation. It had been a long time since he’d gotten over his infatuation with Lydia, but she was still one of his best friends. And Peter Hale had a pretty serious reputation as a conniving, manipulative bastard. But Lydia was more than capable of handling herself, both physically and mentally. It was just her emotional wellbeing that he occasionally worried about.

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t even notice Derek walk up to the table, until the strong scent of cinnamon reached his nose. Whipping around, he saw Derek holding refills of all their drinks.

“You never said what you thought of it,” Derek states, as he handed Stiles the cookie flavored drink.

“It’s awesome, dude,” Stiles responded enthusiastically, snatching the drink of Derek’s hand and taking a large gulp.

He knew his heartbeat was probably going crazy, from seeing Derek for the first time in over a week, and he hoped the others though it was a reaction to the drink.

“It’s a tiny bit too sweet on the first sip, but after that you get used to it,” Stiles gave his review.

“I’ll have to tweak the amount of cinnamon sugar,” Derek nodded, and Stiles could help but find the serious look on his face adorable.

“Ahh nephew,” Peter greeted. “How good of you to join us. I was beginning to think you were going to hide out in the kitchen all day.”

Derek scowled at his uncle, which Stiles only found even more adorable.

“Lydia, I don’t believe you’ve met my brother Derek,” Laura introduced them.

“No, but I’ve heard so much about you,” Lydia teased.

Now it was Stiles’s turn to scowl, though he tried to cover it by taking another sip.

“Well Laura,” Lydia turned to look at the rest of the Hale Pack. “At the very least, your campaign will have plenty of sex appeal.”

Stiles nearly spit out his drink at that comment, only for it turned into a coughing fit instead.

Laura seemed just as surprise and a little upset at Lydia’s comment. “I want to make one thing absolutely clear,” she stated firmly. “My brother and my pack are not to be used as pawns in any kind of sensationalist schemes the two of you might cook up. They’re to be kept out of the spotlight as much as possible. They’ve already been through enough.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before Lydia spoke.

“While I appreciate the sentiment behind what you just said, I’m not sure that will be entirely possible,” Lydia expressed her doubt. “I did warn you in our last conversation that your pack and your family history would be put under considerable scrutiny by this campaign. Whether you like it or not, the press will be interested in them and, the more you try to shield them from it, the worse it will be. They’ll suspect you’re trying to hide some sort of scandal and the speculation alone would be worse than anything they could actually find.”

“Be that as it may,” Laura insisted. “I would appreciate it if you tried to limit their media exposure.”

Stiles looked between the two Alphas and then glanced up at Derek. The Beta was completely expressionless and closed off; it was not a look that Stiles liked on him.

“I’ll do my best,” Lydia countered. “And, while we’re on the subject of protecting your pack, what thought have you given to your security? Even running for a low level political office will but you in the crosshairs of quite a few radical hate groups. Have you given any thought to the subject?”

“We have,” Peter assured. “I’ve already contacted several different security firms to refit both the House and Triple Swirl with state of the art security systems.”

“What about esoteric security?” Lydia pressed.

“I don’t think that would be much of a problem,” Laura frowned. “The people coming after us will be anti-supernatural. They rely on guns and other traditional forms of attack.”

“Not always,” Stiles shrugged. “My dad’s the Sheriff and I used to check out a few of his case files, when he brought them home. You’d be surprised at the number of groups that preach hatred of the supernatural, while using magic to get what they want.”

“I’ve found, in my experience,” Lydia added. “That people will resort to any means necessary to achieve their aims, as long as it suits their purpose. You should look into it a little more.”

“As it happens,” Peter spoke up. “I recently spoke to our pack’s former Emissary, Alan Deaton.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked. “Deaton never told me he used to be an Emissary.”

“I don’t imagine he would,” Laura said rather bitterly.

It was then that Stiles noticed how tense the Hales had become at the mention of his mentor’s name.

“There was a bit of a falling out between us, after the fire,” Peter admitted, looking Stiles right in the eye. “But we are still on speaking terms. I mentioned the need for improved security around our territory and he suggested we go to you.”

“Me?” Stiles was shocked.

“Yes,” Peter replied. “It seems Deaton holds your skills in quite high esteem. He spoke glowingly of your ability to craft protection wards.”

He would be lying if he said that Peter’s words didn’t make him want to fist pump the air. Deaton was a great teacher, but he wasn’t exactly the most expressive person, when it came to compliments. Training with the master Druid had been tough, but ultimately worth it, if the more experienced practitioner would trust him with something like this.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Lydia added. “Stiles is a genius, when it comes to protection wards.”

“Are you sure?” Laura asked. “I wouldn’t want to presume. Stiles is your pack Emissary, after all.”

“And there are all sorts of silly traditions about Emissaries and their packs,” Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Stiles has been with me since high school and he is one of my best friends. I know he’d never betray me. Besides, our packs are in an alliance now; protecting each other is part of that agreement. Unless you don’t trust us with the security of your pack?”

“I’d be a poor Alpha, if I didn’t at least consider the possibility of threats from every direction,” Laura acknowledged.

“Harsh, but I get it,” Stiles scoffed. He knew he could be kind of a shit every once in a while, but he took his responsibilities seriously. “How about I customize the wards I make for you, so that they only respond to your pack? Even I wouldn’t be able to mess with them, once they were set.”

“That can be done?” Laura asked.

“Easily!” Stiles beamed, his mind already putting together how to do it. “But I’d need a member of your pack present, when I did it; preferably you, since you’re the Alpha, but a blood relation would work too. You can even have Deaton or another magic user come check them out after.”

“That would be acceptable,” Laura agreed.

“It should be done as soon as possible,” Lydia urged. “Your protections should be in place, well before you ever announce your candidacy, because I can guarantee there will be threats, right from the beginning. Today would be preferable.”

“Unfortunately, Laura and I already have a prior engagement scheduled for today,” Peter announced, checking his phone.

“But Derek could go,” Laura finished. “The others can handle the café for a few hours, while he took Stiles back to the house.”

Stiles had almost forgotten that Derek was still there. He turned, half expecting to find Derek had fled back to the kitchen, but he hadn’t. Derek was standing right there, looking anywhere but at him.

“Yeah Derek,” Erica sang, from over at the front counter. “We can hold down the fort, while you take Stiles home to work some magic.”

Stiles felt his face heat up at the suggestive way Erica had phrased that last part.

“Then it’s settled,” Lydia concluded.

“But…wait,” Stiles protested. “I don’t have any materials to make my wards on me and Lydia and I came here together.”

“Derek will drive you to your place to pick up whatever you need,” Laura promised.

At that, the others all started standing up and getting ready to leave.

“But—”

“Don’t bother arguing,” Derek grunted. “When two Alphas make up their mind about something, you don’t really want to stand in their way. Come on, my car’s around back.”

He scrambled to his feet and headed after Derek, who was already entering the back kitchen. Hesitating for a moment, he looked over at Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, only to receive matching creepy smiles from all of them.

“Have fun,” Erica purred and blew him a kiss.

With that, he darted into the back and ran to catch up with Derek.

 

You can follow me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8 - Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be my favorite thus far, because I get to go more into Stiles's magic and the dialog was flowing really well, as I was writing.
> 
> Super Special Thanks to my new Beta reader Saiya!

 

 

Derek needed to get out of the Triple Swirl as fast as possible, before his scent gave away enough embarrassing information for Erica to truly humiliate him. It was bad enough that his pack could smell his attraction for the Martin Pack Emissary under normal circumstances but he’d die of shame, if they drew attention to it in front of Stiles’s Alpha. That was the main reason he’d hidden in the kitchens throughout most of the meeting; he didn’t want to give Stiles’s Alpha any reason to regret her alliance with their pack. Though, from the look she’d given him when they were introduced, he figured that she at least suspected his feelings for her Emissary.

And she had still agreed to let Stiles accompany him back to his house. Alone.

He didn’t know if Alpha Martin was playing some kind of Peter-level head game or if she just genuinely wasn’t concerned about his attraction to her Emissary. He hoped it was the latter.

Either way, he was anxious to get away from the scrutiny of his pack, particularly the inappropriate suggestions Erica was still calling out to him just quietly enough that Stiles couldn’t hear. He prayed that Lydia Martin was already out of hearing range.

Not bothering to see if Stiles was following him, he made his way through the parking lot to where he always parked his Camaro in the shade. Pulling out his keys, he heard Stiles running up behind him.

“Whoa!” Stiles skidded to a halt next to him. “Sweet ride, dude!”

Seeing the blatant admiration on Stiles’s face, Derek couldn’t help but preen a little. He had always been proud of his car; the same car he’d wanted since before he got his driver’s license. Holding the door open he watched Stiles slide into the leather seat with a satisfied groan.

“If I didn’t love my Jeep so much, I might consider getting a car with leather seats,” Stiles sighed. “Actually, I wonder if I could get leather seats installed in my Jeep.”

Derek didn’t comment on how ridiculous that idea was but his judging look was enough to make Stiles squawk in defense of his beloved Jeep.

On the way to Stiles’s apartment, he drove more carefully than he normally did and keep well within the speed limit. He tried to tell himself that he just didn’t want to frighten Stiles with his regular driving style, but a little voice in the back of his head—one that sounded disconcertingly like Erica—whispered that he was just trying to prolong his time with Stiles.

Admittedly, he did enjoy having Stiles in his car like this. They were seated much closer than they usually were, with a counter between them, and Stiles’s scent filled the enclosed space, mixing with his own, in a way that made his wolf want to purr.

Throughout the short drive, Stiles kept up a constant stream of chatter. He spoke about the types of wards he would create and the materials he would need for them. Derek only listened with half an ear, just enjoying the sound of his voice.

“Am I annoying you?”

The question startled Derek, “Not particularly. Why?”

“You just haven’t said a word since we left the Triple Swirl,” Stiles commented. “And you kind of have his constipated/angry look on your face.”

“My face isn’t constipated or angry,” Derek huffed.

“So you just have a naturally sour resting face,” Stiles pressed.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Sourwolf.”

“That’s not going to become a thing,” Derek informed him.

“I don’t know,” Stiles grinned. “It seems like it could be a thing. In fact, I’m a little surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. I could have—”

“We’re here,” Derek cut him off, as he pulled into Stiles’s apartment complex. “How long will it take you to grab what you need?”

“Well,” Stiles paused, halfway from exiting the vehicle, so that he was practically hanging out of the Camaro. “I could always drive my Jeep there, once I have everything. That way you wouldn’t have to drive me home afterwards.”

Derek silently cursed himself but asked, “Do you know the way?”

“I know a general area,” Stiles hedged.

“I’ll stay, until you have everything,” Derek shrugged. “And then you can follow me to the house.”

“In that case,” Stiles smiled. “Do you want to come up, so you don’t have to wait in your car? Not that your car isn’t awesome, because it is. In fact, you might even be more comfortable in your car—”

“I’ll come up with you, so you don’t get distracted and take forever,” Derek cut him off.

“Great! Follow me.”

Trailing after Stiles, he tried to keep his eyes off the Emissary’s ass in those sinful jeans and instead forced himself to look around. It was a nice area and he guessed that there were probably a few families living in some of the other units. The greenery was all neatly trimmed and the paint looked, if not new, than at least professionally done.

“I see you managed to take care of that vandalism problem,” Derek observed.

“What!” Stiles fumbled and dropped his keys, as his heartbeat skyrocketing.

“Last week, Isaac overheard you and Scott talking about a problem with vandalism,” Derek reminded him. “It looks to me like that’s not a problem anymore.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles agreed, his heart rate returning to normal. “That’s—don’t worry about that. So! Here we are. Casa Stilinski. Well, Casa Stiles. Casa Stilinski will always be my dad’s house.”

Stepping inside, he was pleasantly surprised to find it was much cleaner than he’d expected. He’d always imagined that Stiles lived in a stereotypical bachelor pad, complete with dirty laundry and used dishes lying around everywhere, but there weren’t. It was a little cluttered with papers and large stacks of books, but not truly messy. The place smelled of drying herbs, old books, rocks, hints of lemon cleaning solution, and something else that was pure Stiles.

“So, um, make yourself at home,” Stiles gestured to the sofa and chairs in his living room. “Are you thirsty? I’ve got apple juice, orange juice, milk, water—”

“I’m fine,” Derek politely declined.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded. “Well, I’m just gonna change into a t-shirt and some older jeans real quick.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Stiles that he liked him in what he was wearing, but that might have been pushing it. Besides, he had no idea what setting protection spells involved, so it made sense that Stiles wouldn’t want to ruin his good clothes.

Needing a distraction from the thought that, just behind a thin bedroom door, Stiles was naked (or at least mostly naked), he started looking around at the various books around the apartment. One large leather-bound tomb in particular drew his attention. It was resting on the kitchen table and it looked quite old. Unable to make out the title from the faded cover, he was about to open it, when Stiles’s voice rang out.

“You don’t want to touch that!” Stiles yelled, rushing towards him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he drew back quickly. “Is it your spell book or something?”

“Pff, please,” Stiles scoffed. “You really think all of my research could fit in one little, book.”

The book in question was the size of a phonebook.

“No, this isn’t mine,” Stiles blurted. “And it’s cursed.”

On reflex, Derek took another step away.

“Why do you have a cursed book on your kitchen table?”

“Part of my job,” Stiles explained. “In addition to working on a database of supernatural knowledge, I’m also kind of a jack-of-all-trades in the magic community. Whenever people come across interesting or dangerous items, like this, they send it to me. Sometimes they send them to me to remove the curse or even to just figure out what the heck certain items even do. I’m not 100% certain this curse would have affected you, given your werewolf healing, but you’d probably rather not find out.”

He honestly didn’t know whether he should be impressed or worried that Stiles made it a habit to poke around dangerous and mysterious magical objects, so he stayed silent on the matter. To avoid another potential mishap, he decided to go sit on the couch and wait. He spent the next twenty minutes watching Stiles bounce around his apartment, rummaging through cabinets and drawers for various items and putting them in a messenger bag.

Once Stiles had everything he needed, they were on their way again, with Stiles following him in his Jeep. After the enjoyable ride to Stiles’s apartment, the drive back to his house felt uncommonly quiet.

“Wow!” Stiles admired. “This place looks great all rebuilt.”

Derek tried not to tense up at those words but, judging from the wince Stiles gave, he wasn’t successful.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized. “I totally wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before Derek spoke again.

“Did you ever see it, before the fire,” he inquired.

“No,” Stiles shook his head. Then he admitted, “But I saw it afterwards. Back in middle school, it was a popular dare to come out here. People said it was haunted.”

 _It’s still haunted._ Derek thought morbidly.

Unlocking the door, he showed Stiles inside.

“Should I change too?” he asked. His work clothes weren’t as fancy as Stiles’s clothes had been; just a simple polo shirt, with a triskelion logo on the right breast, and a pair of jeans. Stiles raked his eyes up and down his body and he fought the urge to puff out his chest.

“You should be fine,” Stiles replied. “We won’t be doing anything too messy. Though you might want to change out of your work shirt.”

He stripped off his polo to reveal the black tank top underneath and was pleased to catch Stiles’s eyes trailing down his torso.

“Where do we start?”

“What?” Stiles asked a bit dazed, before he should his head and focused back on Derek’s face. “Oh! Um, outside. Yeah, all these wards will be set up around the house.”

Leading Stiles through the house, he took them out the back door. He was halfway down the porch steps, when Stiles spoke up again.

“Dude, you have your store logo tattooed on your back!” Stiles exclaimed. “Talk about dedication to your work.”

Scowling, he turned and glared at Stiles. “I had the tattoo for years, before we opened Triple Swirl, idiot. It’s our family symbol.”

“Right,” Stiles gave a weak laugh and looked adorably flustered. “I forgot that your pack is pretty old, ancient even. Only the packs that are a few centuries old have symbols like that. Still, you must have been pretty committed to have that done. I remember how bad it was getting mine done.”

“I seriously doubt it was as bad as what I went through,” Derek argued.

“Excuse you,” Stiles challenged. “Mine had to be done with nothing but sharpened thorns and bone shards. No modern appliances allowed. It took a whole year to complete!”

“Mine required a blow torch,” he countered, turning back around and walking out into the yard.

“Touché,” Stiles conceded, following close behind. “Still, mine are for more than simple decoration.”

“They’re part of your magic, right,” he hazard a guess.

“Yeah, they help me channel my spark and keep me from doing unconscious magic,” Stiles explained.

“What’s it like,” Derek asked, looking Stiles in the eye.

“Huh?”

“I mean, what does it feel like, when you use your magic with them,” he elaborated.

“It’s kind of hard to explain to someone who can’t feel magic the way I do,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “It feels like the magic sort of highlights them, if that makes any sense. Like the magic flows through them the way electricity flows through power cables—but the power comes from inside of me—and I can feel it bursting out against my skin.”

“It sounds a little bit like when we shift,” Derek shared. “The part about the power coming from inside and pushing its way outward.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that before,” Stiles replied thoughtfully. “But I guess they do sound pretty similar. Now, we should really get to it.”

“What’s first?”

“First we’re going to establish where each ward is going to go, to set up a perimeter,” Stiles explained, as he took a visual survey of the back yard and surrounding area. “You have a natural ring of birch trees surrounding your house. That will help a lot because birch trees are great for protection and purification; not as good as oak, but still strong. I can use them to connect and boost the wards effectiveness.”

They walked an entire circuit around the house, until they were in the back yard again. Then Stiles stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they seemed unfocused and far off. Derek had a feeling that he was seeing something much different than what he himself could see.

“Man, whoever picked this spot to build the original house was either a supernatural genius or damn lucky,” Stiles beamed.

“How so?”

“Well, you know about telluric currents, right?” Stiles inquired, as he blinked a few times and his eyes regained their focus.

“It’s hard to live in Beacon Hills and not know about them,” he rolled his eyes.

“Right, so the telluric currents crisscross the entire area that Beacon Hills was built on. And they all culminate at the Nemeton—that creepy, magic tree stump in the woods,” Stiles explained.

“I know all this already,” Derek sighed. “What’s your point?”

“ _My point_ ,” Stiles stressed and rolled his. “Is that your house is built over one of the largest convergences of currents on their way to the Nemeton. Seriously, I can see at least three of them joining together, right here, before they flow up to the Nemeton. Like, if you thought of the currents as the lifeblood of the magic in this area, then your house would be right on the jugular.”

“And that’s good?”

“No, that’s awesome!” Stiles informed him excitedly. “It’s going to make my protection wards supercharged! If I can set them up right, you won’t even have to keep recharging them, like I have to do to all my others. They would have a constant—and potentially limitless—energy source to tap into.”

They spent the next hour scouting out places to put each ward, so that it fell within the flow of the telluric current. Stiles explained that the telluric currents fluctuated, just like actual currents, depending on a bunch of factors. Things like weather patterns or star alignments could affect the ebb and flow of the currents power.

“Alright, what’s next? We chant in Latin and burn some sage?”

“If we were in Hogwarts, maybe,” Stiles laughed. “Magic words and a lot of the trappings of magic you see in movies don’t really do anything. Even when a true magic user draws a circle or preforms some kind of ritual, it’s not the circle or the ritual itself that has the magic.”

“If it’s so pointless, then why do they even bother with all that,” he asked.

“Because it’s a way to focus,” Stiles elaborated. “The first magic users didn’t do any of the complicated stuff we have today. They just did magic by instinct, or accident. Over generations they started to develop ways to help them center their focus, to achieve their desired results, and—more importantly—to replicate those results and then teach it to others. But really all you need to do magic is the spark and concentration. Certain things in nature can help though.”

“Like Mountain Ash,” Derek offered.

“Like Mountain Ash,” Stiles agreed.

“So what are we doing, then?” Derek asked.

“In layman’s terms, we’re putting a spell on some rocks and then burying those rocks in the yard,” Stiles replied.

“If that was dog joke…” Derek threatened.

“It wasn’t!” Stiles protested, throwing his hands up. “That is what we’re actually going to do. I swear.” Stiles even mimed putting an ‘x’ over his heart.

“Won’t you have to carve some kind of runes into the doorways or the walls?” Derek asked. He remembered that there had been some kind of arcane carving on the wall, behind the family portrait, of their old house. It was strange what kind of little details came back him, when he least expected it.

“That’s one form of protection ward you can do but, to be honest, it’s not something I’m very good at,” he grinned sheepishly. “I like having a physical object, separate from what I’m protecting. They’re less noticeable and harder to tamper with. Not to mention easier to fix, if you screw up.”

“I assume there’s a story behind that last comment,” Derek smirked. From everything that he’d seen of Stiles, he could only imagine some of the mishaps he must have gotten into growing up and training his abilities.

“You have no idea,” Stiles groaned. “When I was sixteen, I tried to set my first protection ward in my dad’s house, by carving it into one of the living room walls. Not only did it backfire and start attracting all kinds of negative energy, but we ended up having to replace the entire wall, to correct it.”

He couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle, just picturing the scene. “Hopefully, you’ve improved, since then.”

“Dude, you heard you’re uncle, Deaton totally vouched for me,” Stiles boasted. “So, don’t worry.”

“Fine,” Derek sighed in resignation. “What kind of rocks do we need? Or can I just grab a few off the ground.”

“No we need hematite,” Stiles explained. “Don’t worry, I brought them with me.” Stiles pulled a small pouch out of his messenger bag. It clacked with the sound of pebbled bouncing against each other. “This is where you come in. I need you to help me power them and set them for your pack.”

“I though you said the telluric currents would power them,” Derek reminded him.

“They will,” Stiles replied. “But first we have to form the initial protection spell. Right, so maybe we should sit down. It might be easier.”

With that, Stiles promptly fold his legs underneath himself and plopped down on the ground, setting his bag down by his side. After a brief moment of skepticism, he sat down on the grass right in front of him. As soon as they were both seated, Stiles dumped out the pouch to form a small pile of metallic silver-black stones. On closer inspection, he saw that they weren’t the typical polished stones you can buy in hobby stores. They were cut and polished in a bagel shape.

“Why are they bagel shaped?” he asked in annoyance.

“It’s called a torus, and it’s a very powerful symbol,” Stiles insisted. “It can draw on all of the power of a circle and, because of the hole in the middle, it can be used like an [adder ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adder_stone)stone for protection or seeing dangers before they strike. Granted, true adder stones are formed by nature and these were cut by a gem cutter, but the symbolism is still there and that will help with the spell. Now, take the stones and hold them in your hands.”

Feeling a little ridiculous, he gathered all the stones in his cupped hands and waited for the next step.

“Okay, now this next part will sound weird, but just trust me,” Stiles told him.

Even though he had his doubts, he found that he did trust Stiles.

“Okay, now I want you to close your eyes,” Stiles instructed. “It sounds silly, but it really does help you concentrate. Now, imagine your own energy glowing around you. Maybe picture it like a kind of ghost wolf, wrapped all around you.”

“Like a Kitsune’s aura,” Derek suggested.

“Exactly!”

Even though he’d heard about Kitsunes and their glowing auras while growing up, he’d never actually seen one, until he moved back to Beacon Hills. After seeing Kira at the Triple Swirl with Scott and Stiles, he had no trouble envisioning something similar for himself. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself enveloped by a glowing wolf. It didn’t shine a harsh, blazing yellow, like Kira’s though. His was a pale blue and it shimmered softly, like moonlight on water.

“That’s perfect,” Stiles gasped. “Now, I want you to imagine my hands scooping up some of that energy—not ripping it away, but just skimming off some of the excess—and pouring it over the stones in your hands. Letting them soak it up.”

At that, he could feel Stiles’s magic draw closer to him. He could hear that Stiles hadn’t moved at all, but his _presence_ was drawing near. Surprisingly, his wolf was perfectly fine with it. He felt a warm sensation down his spine, not like fire, but more like sunshine on an early summer afternoon. In his head he pictured Stiles petting the glowing wolf all around him. Every time that happened, the Emissary’s hands would come away covered in a little bit of his blue energy, which Stiles would then sprinkle onto the stones in his hands.

This happened again and again, until the even Derek could feel the power soaked into the stones. Derek had held magical items before and knew what it felt like, but this was different. The energy pulsing in these stones felt warm and familiar; they felt safe.

_Of course they would feel familiar. It’s my own energy._

“A werewolf’s spark is very similar to a magic user’s spark,” Stiles continued talking throughout the process. “Only, where a magic users harnesses their spark to affect the world around them, werewolves use their spark to alter their own bodies, giving you heightened senses and the shift, of course. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be harnessed for actual spells. By using your energy, instead of mine, it creates a link between the wards and your pack; one that can’t be tampered with by an outside force.”

“Did you do this with your Alpha for the wards on Martin Manor,” he inquired. The thought of Stiles doing this with someone else made him irrationally jealous. Stiles was another pack’s Emissary and this was just part of a spell; nothing more.

“No,” Stiles answered. “I used my own energy for those, because of how close I am with Lydia. Through her I can connect our wards with the entire pack.”

That answer only made his wolf more agitated, causing Derek to let out a low growl.

“Easy there,” Stiles soothed. “I know this can seem a little invasive, but we’re almost done.”

He managed to get himself back under control and decided to distract himself from his own thoughts, by asking Stiles a question. “How did you learn to do this? This doesn’t exactly seem like something a Druid would typically do.”

“Believe it or not, but this was one of the first things I learned how to do,” Stiles chuckled. “With Deaton, I had to learn to channel my own innate energy and draw on the power of nature.”

“Or other people,” Derek pointed out.

“Well, you learn how to draw energy from others, so that you know how to recognize it and avoid doing it,” Stiles elaborated. “You don’t want to power all your spells from energy you take from other people, because that’s just a dick move. Like those so-called ‘aura vampires’. Most of them are fakes, but you get a few that are just humans with a spark that are being total douches, by taking energy from other people who don’t know any better. Then you get the _really_ nasty magic users, who completely drain a bunch of people for their own gain.”

Stiles went on to explain about how he was using Derek’s energy—a very, very tiny amount—to shape the protection ward, centered in the hematite stones. Gradually, he felt Stiles’s magic move back from him. By that point, the stones in his hands were fairly buzzing with power.

“Alright, we’re done,” Stiles announced. “You can open your—Whoa! Where did your eyebrows go?”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, before he realized that his words were coming out distorted from his fangs. His fangs! Looking down, he dropped the stones in shock, when he saw his hands were all fully clawed as well. Somehow, during the whole energy sharing process, he had shifted into his Beta form, without even noticing.

“How did this happen?” he asked more of himself than Stiles.

“I don’t know,” Stiles shook his head in bewilderment. “I guess you didn’t like the exchange and you shifted, as a way to shield yourself from it.”

“You’re probably right,” Derek jumped at the plausible explanation, glad that Stiles couldn’t hear the lie in his heartbeat. Privately, he thought it might be more because he was so comfortable with the whole process that he felt safe enough to let his wolf out more than normal. He quickly shifted back into his human self and looked at Stiles expectantly. “What now.”

“Oh, right!” Stiles jolted back to attention. “Next is the casing. Most people would leave their wards just like that; plain stones. But I like to go a step further and create a kind of protective shield around the ward.”

Derek curiosity was piqued, as he watched Stiles lean over and dig through his messenger bag. After a few moments, he sat back up with a bundle of twigs in one hand and two spools of yarn in the other. He leaned forward only to lean right back, when he caught a whiff of the twigs.

“Stiles, those are Rowan twigs,” he pointed out. “As in Mountain Ash.”

“Yep,” Stiles agreed.

“I can’t touch Rowan wood,” he enunciated slowly.

“I’m well aware of that,” Stiles replied. “You and a whole bunch of other supernatural creatures can’t mess with them. So, what better way is there to protect you defenses from rival packs or other supernatural threats?”

“But how am I supposed to put them around the wards?”

“You’re not,” Stiles informed him. “I am. You are going to braid the yarn. I’ll take care of the rest.”

With that, Stiles tossed him the two spools of yarn. He caught them effortlessly. One was a snowy white, the other a deep blue the same shade as Stiles’s tattoos.

“Braid the yarn,” Derek echoed.

“That’s right,” Stiles smirked. “I dyed them myself, with a few homemade herbal recipes. The blue yard uses the same kind of [woad ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isatis_tinctoria)pigment that went into my tattoos. The colors are significant too. Blue is calming and restorative, to help make sure that people with violent intent don’t enter your territory. White is a kind of catch all and can be used in place of pretty much any other color and is the second best for protection magic.”

“What’s number one?” he asked, as he started to unwind the yarn.

“That would be red,” Stiles muttered.

“Then why not use red?”

“Because red also represents a lot of other things, like blood, passion—”

“Fire.”

“Yes,” Stiles winced. “That’s why I thought blue would be better. The connection with water and everything. Just make sure you braid the yarn tightly and try to keep your thoughts on protecting your pack. It will help shape the spell better.”

They worked in silence—or as silent as Stiles is capable of being—for a little while after that; Derek braiding yarn and Stiles organizing piles of Rowan twigs. When Stiles judged that Derek head braided enough, he told him to cut it into three inch sections with his claws. Then Stiles got to work.

It was fascinating to see the change in Stiles, when he was working on something like this. His entire demeanor changed, before Derek’s eyes. Gone was the twitchy, jittery young man he was used to. In his place was someone of near inhuman calm and concentration. He would have been worried at the unusual stillness in the younger man, if it weren’t for the way, Stiles’s eyes seemed to blaze behind his glasses and the familiar way he licked his lips, every so often. So, Derek sat back and watched, mesmerized, as he observed Stiles’s long, dexterous fingers deftly weaved the young, green twigs together with the yarn he had just braided, to form a rough cage around the hematite stones. He had no idea how long he watched Stiles work but, by the time the last ward was finished, the sun was low in the sky.

“Oh man,” Stiles groaned and stretched, his shirt lifting just enough for Derek to catch a glimpse of dark hair leading down to the waistline of his pants. “I forgot how time consuming this is. But, the good news is, once they’re in place, you shouldn’t have to worry about them ever again. Now we just have to place them.”

That turned out to be the quickest part of the entire process. They already had most of the places to put them picked out. Now all Stiles had to do was take one of the wards, use his magic to open a hole in the ground near—that didn’t impress Derek in the slightest, nope, not at all—and then close the ground over the ward again. Now that all the wards were shielded with the Rowan twigs, Derek couldn’t really help, but he walked with Stiles to keep him company. Being the chatterbox that he was, Stiles kept up a constant stream of conversation.

It wasn’t until almost all the wards were placed that Stiles broached a new subject. “So, you must be really excited about your sister running for office.”

A frown pulled at his lips and he turned away. “She’ll be great in office,” he uttered blandly.

“But you don’t seem too thrilled about it,” Stiles observed. “Not that it’s any of my business. You just never really struck me as the type of guy who seeks out the limelight.”

“It’s not my thing,” he shrugged. “But I can put up with it, for Laura’s sake.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Stiles reassured. “Lydia, while equal parts brilliant and terrifying, is actually really good at what she does. If you really don’t want to be in the news, she’ll find a way to give you your privacy.”

“You have a lot of faith in her,” he noted.

“She’s my Alpha,” Stiles stated simply.

“But it’s more than that,” he pressed. “You two are…close.”

“We’re not sleeping together, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” Stiles snorted indignantly.

Truth was, Derek had wondered about that on more than one occasion. Given the adoring way Stiles always talked about her. Or how natural the two of them looked together, when they walked into the Triple Swirl. And the questioning—possibly jealous—looks Stiles had thrown Peter’s way, whenever his uncle and Lydia had gotten a little too close.

“We’ve been best friends, since high school,” Stiles confided in him. “Once I got over my epic crush on her and she told me point blank that ‘we’ were never going to happen.”

“I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want you has her mate,” Derek spoke with sincere conviction.

“Do you have an hour?” Stiles joked self-deprecatingly.

_For you, I can have forever._

He was so caught up in that thought and staring into the other man’s warm caramel eyes, that he missed when Stiles was talking again.

“So, any ideas?” Stiles questioned.

“Hmm?”

“Your next drink creation. Do you have any new ideas for one?” Stiles repeated.

“Caramel,” Derek shot out automatically. “I…I want to do something with caramel.”

“Caramel,” Stiles pretended to consider it. “Sounds good. Any specifics, or are you just going to give me a cup of caramel sauce. Not that I would actually mind drinking a cup of caramel sauce—I drank a whole bottle once—but Scott would probably kill you, if he had to deal with me afterwards.”

“Maybe I’ll try some layered drinks next,” Derek improvised. “Like a caramel macchiato.”

_A macchiato is one of those fancy layered drinks, right?_

“Sweet,” Stiles enthused. “Going all sophisticated on me. I eagerly await the next time I see you emerge from the Triple Swirl’s kitchen.”

“If I had my way, I’d stay in the Triple Swirl kitchens and never come out,” he answered truthfully.

“Aw, but then who would I talk to, when I come by to sample your new creations?” Stiles fake whined.

“I’m sure you’d find someone else to talk to,” he grinned. “If nothing else, you’re more than capable of carrying on an entire conversation with yourself.”

“Rude,” Stiles pouted.

Derek was struck by how beautiful Stiles’s lips were, only to be jarred from that train of thought by the sound of a cell phone.

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles apologized. “I gotta get this.”

“Sure.”

“Danny,” Stiles greeted cheerfully. “What’s up man?”

Derek ground his teeth at how happy Stiles sounded to hear from this Danny person. His wolf urged him to listen in and learn more about this potential rival for Stiles’s affection, but instead he politely shifted his hearing away from what the man on the other end of the call was saying, to give Stiles at least a small measure of privacy. It was a habit that had been drilled into him, since childhood. Whatever the person was saying had Stiles really excited.

“Okay, absolutely,” Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I’ll drive over right now. I can be there in twenty. Okay, see you soon.”

“You have to go,” Derek reiterated, before Stiles could say anything.

“Yeah, it’s kind of important pack business,” Stiles explained. “Besides, I’ve done as much as I can do, without the whole pack present.”

“There are more wards you could do, besides these,” he questioned.

“Yeah, but they’re waaaay more specialized and would have to be keyed to each member of the pack individually,” Stiles elaborated.

“Laura and Peter might be interested in those as well,” he lied, well maybe partially lied. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

“So I have your number to coordinate, if they wanted to set up those other wards,” Derek lied and that time it was a total lie. If Laura wanted any more advanced wards, she would send the request through Lydia, not go straight to another pack’s Emissary. What he’d just asked for went against all sorts of pack etiquette, but Derek couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed. Stiles certainly didn’t think it was a strange request and obediently handed his phone over.

Once he put his number in, he walked Stiles back to his Jeep.

Now he had to look up how to make a macchiato.

 

 

You can follow me on tumblr [here!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter would usually be Lydia's POV, but I'm skipping over back to Stiles's POV and then Lydia's will be after that. So, sorry to anyone who was looking forward to another Lydia chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome :)


	9. Chapter 9 - Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive, for all of you who thought I'd fallen off the face of the earth. If you read my other story "The Legend of Red Hood" then you already know that a whole lot of craziness in real life has been keeping me from updating, but I haven't forgotten about my fics or my readers. I won't be able to update as frequently as I would like, from now on, but I promise that I won't ever just give up on my fics.
> 
> Gigantic hugs to those of you who have stuck with me for this long :)

 

 

Stiles’s mind raced with possibilities. According to his brief phone conversation with Danny, the tech wizard had found something interesting, while reviewing security footage of the vandalism attacks. And, even though Danny warned him that it wasn’t much, he was still excited about finding anything that could potentially lead him to his culprit.

As reluctant as Stiles was to pull himself away from Derek and the Hale House, he was still excited to hear what Danny had found. Besides, if it turned out to be something significant in regards to whoever or whatever had been targeting their pack, then that had to be his first priority. Not to mention that finally getting rid of this nuisance would take a considerable amount of pressure off Lydia and smooth out a few of the pack’s lingering doubts about supporting Laura Hale’s run for office.

Driving back to the main road, he tried not to read too much into the fact that he could still see Derek in his rearview mirror, watching him drive away instead of just heading back inside his house. Sometimes he just couldn’t figure out what Derek’s deal was. The constant hot and cold signals he keeps getting from the broody, hot werewolf were throwing him for a loop.

Granted, some of the coldness this time was probably due to the whole magic siphoning he’d had to do for the wards. He knew it could be a little disconcerting to some people, but he’d never had someone have such an extreme reaction, like Derek had. The wolf must have really hated it to shift like that. Stiles made a mental note for future reference that werewolves not connected to the magic user’s pack might have more intense reactions.

 _Though he did look pretty hot in his shifted form._ Stiles thought while unconsciously licking his lips. _The whole no eyebrows thing kinda works for him._

With that pleasant thought in mind, his drive passed quickly and he was soon pulling up to an unassuming office building that housed Danny’s fledgling software firm. It was a perfectly average building made of beige stone with large windows. Looking at it now, you would have never known that, only a few days ago, all the front facing windows had been shattered and that there had been several cracks in the stonework. All of the damage had been superficial, but concerning, none the less.

Danny’s business was one of the first places hit by their, as of yet, unseen adversaries. Back then, they hadn’t yet realized there was any kind of connection with some minor property damage done on a couple of other Martin Pack businesses.

The attacks had started with the newest of all the pack business (i.e. all the businesses that Lydia had either personally set up or provided start-up funds for) before moving on the older and more established ones. It was for that reason that Danny’s building had been one of the first places Stiles had set up his new wards around.

Heading inside and making his way to the receptionist desk, he gazed around the large, airy lobby. The interior of the building was sleek and modern but not cold and alien looking, like how most modern firms tended to be. The large windows let in plenty of natural light and softened the entire feel of the room. Not at all like the dark windowless caves, lit only by the glow of computer screens that you would expect of a company that dealt with computer software. Not that there weren’t plenty of those dark windowless computer rooms in the building, but they were all hidden in the back, away from the sight of potential customer and visiting business executives.

The receptionist was a young black woman with a cheery smile that actually looked genuine. He recognized her as a wolf from one of the smaller packs in the area around Beacon Hills that had sworn allegiance to the Martin Pack. She recognized him as well and waved him right through to the elevators. Being the pack’s Emissary had a few perks, including unlimited access to all Martin properties and businesses.

Danny’s private office was on the fourth floor, past a sea of typical office cubicles full of worker drones. Though Danny at least was laid back enough to let his employees decorate their cubicles with their own personal flare. One in particular was covered in all kinds of awesome Star Wars memorabilia that Stiles just had to take second to stop and admire, before entering Danny’s office and closing the door behind him.

Impeccably dressed in a designer suit, Danny was standing behind his desk speaking with what sounded like a business associate on speakerphone. He motioned for Stiles to hold on a minute, while he wrapped up the call. Nodding in understanding, Stiles took the opportunity to poke around the private office a little.

Danny’s office was done in the same open, airy design as the rest of the building, with a few personal touches reflecting his Hawaiian heritage and even a couple of strategically placed plants. Seeing the plants, Stiles was reminded that he really needed to water his own plants, back in his apartment.

“Sorry about that,” Danny sighed, as he ended his call.

“No problem-o,” Stiles shrugged. “Big corporate hot-shot like you, I’m surprised you even had time to see me.”

“Not quite a corporate hot-shot yet,” Danny grinned.

“Yeah, I give it another year before Wall Street’s banging down your door, wanting to option your stocks for some ridiculous amount.”

“Do you even know how stock options work?”

“Not really,” Stiles shrugged. “Anyways, on the phone you said you had something to show me.”

“I do,” Danny motioned Stiles over to his desk, to look at the multiple 20 inch LCD monitors that had various surveillance videos all queued up. “Lydia had me go over these surveillance video a dozen times for some kind of trace of who had been vandalizing our properties.”

“Yeah, but we could never find anything,” Stiles remembered. “Not even when you dissected the footage and ran it through all kinds of analysis.”

“Right, and I tried everything,” Danny informed him. “I was just about to give up on it, when I saw something on one of the videos out of the corner of my eye. I doesn’t show up on any of the scans or in a frame by frame, but you can see it in real time and slow mode.”

Stiles turned his full attention to the monitor Danny pointed him at and watched a thirty second clip of a wall outside Danny’s building. Video was one that Stiles had seen before. It was one of the earliest incidents that they had captured on video. One second the wall was completely unmarked and the next there was a large crack in it, as if it had been hit with some kind of sledgehammer or pickaxe.

“There!” Danny pointed at the crack excitedly. “Did you see it?”

“No,” Stiles replied in confusion. “What is it I’m supposed to being seeing?”

“Watch the spot on the wall, right before the crack appears,” Danny instructed and played the clip again.

Focusing on that spot this time, Stiles leaned in closer to the screen and watched. At first, all he could see was a plain blank wall. Then, an instant before the crack in the wall appeared, there was a strange dark blue blur moving across the wall.

“What the heck was that?” Stiles half shouted, quickly pulling back from the screen.

“I have no idea,” Danny answered honestly. “But it’s something. I’ve caught strange blue flashes, like that, in over a dozen of the surveillance videos from various attacks. I have a few of my people going through the rest to see if it appears in all of them.”

Danny played four more clips of different vandalism attacks and they were all the same. Each and every time something is cracked, broken, or knocked over, a tiny dark blue blur precedes it by less than a second. It almost reminded him of Derek’s aura that he had seen earlier, only this was darker and less shimmery. But it was definitely magic of some kind. Of that he had no doubt.

“Can’t you slow it down any more?” Stiles frowned. “I need to get a clear look at this thing.”

“That’s as good as you’re going to get,” Danny replied. “Any slower and it doesn’t show up at all.”

“And you can’t get a still frame of it?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Danny shook his head. “It only shows up, when the footage is being played. And, it’s only for an instant. Blink and you’ll miss it.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “Now we’re dealing with frickin’ Weeping Angels.”

“Well, no one has been transported back in time yet,” Danny reassured. “And this is more than we had before, so that’s something.”

“You’re right,” Stiles sighed, already racking his mind for anything that had to do with blue blurs. “This is a hell of a lot more than we had before. I just need to figure out what it means.”

“Well, before you go and lose yourself in a researching binge, I have something else for you to look at,” Danny told him. “It has to do with the Hale campaign.”

Interest piqued, he leaned over, as Danny pulled up what Stiles recognized as a website template. It was your typical political candidate website complete with a donation page. Whoever created it had done a great job. It was a simple, easy to navigate site, with a nice clean design that had just enough red, white, and blue to make you feel patriotic, without shoving it in your face. All it was missing was a few pictures of Laura and a little more information on the bio and mission statement pages.

“Nice,” Stiles commented appreciatively.

“Lydia asked me do a mock-up, after the pack meeting,” Danny explained. “I had a few of the guys who made my site work on it, though I didn’t tell them who it was for and had them leave the candidate name and photos blank. And I’ve already got the domain name registered, as well as about fifty other similar ones that will all redirect to this site. Once Lydia sends me the final images and gives me the go ahead, I can have this site launched in a matter of minutes.”

“Knowing Lydia, she wouldn’t want to tip their hand too soon,” Stiles guessed. “She’ll probably coordinate it with Laura’s announcement of her candidacy.”

Danny opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by an alert on his computer.

“I can get going, if you need to get that,” Stiles offered, assuming it was another business call.

“No, it’s not a call,” Danny explained. “It’s one of the alerts Lydia had me set up. I’ve been monitoring a bunch of news feeds and government sites for her.”

Pulling up a new window, Danny scanned a bunch of information and numbers that flashed across the screen.

“What’s going on?”

“Not sure,” Danny replied, eyes still glued to the computer screen. “Whatever it is, the chatter from it is blowing up the political and social media forums.”

A second later, Danny was clicking on a link of a streaming video that showed a rather budgie, blonde haired middle-aged man in a suit, with an overly large American flag button on his lapel.

“Oh God, not this asswipe,” Stiles groaned in annoyance.

Senator Reginald Remington III was a conservative from Texas, who was elected on promises of outlawing abortion and making shock collars mandatory for werewolf children in public schools. Needless to say, Stiles wasn’t exactly fond of him and wasn’t particularly interested in whatever this idiot had to say, but he knew he had to hear it.

The video showed Remington standing at a podium, in front of a building with white columns, so Stiles assumed it was somewhere in Washington DC. The fact that they even let bigoted, pieces of garbage like him into the United States Senate was a disgrace to their entire country. Frickin’ Texas. He was just thinking that the Senator’s eyes looked particularly hateful today, when the windbag opened his mouth and started to talk.

_“The people of this great nation know me as a good man of simple ideals.”_

“More like a simple-minded man of good-for-nothing ideals,” Stiles snorted, only to have Danny shush him.

_“I have made it my life’s mission to serve my beloved homeland and look after the welfare of its people,” the Senator Remington announced. “Which is why I am proud to introduce my Lycanthropic Breeding Protection Bill, for ratification in Congress.”_

Before Stiles can even process what was just said, the press is going crazy shouting questions and cameras flashing. It took a minute for them to settle down, but when they did, Remington immediately launches into his speech.

_“Seventy-two years ago, when the lycanthropes revealed their existence at the onset of World War II, we graciously accepted them into our society, on the promise that they could control their base, animal natures and live peacefully among us. Sadly, through no fault of their own, they have failed to uphold their end of the bargain. But lycanthropes, as a species, cannot be held responsible for failing in the unbearable struggle to suppressing their bestial tendencies. We can, however, assist them by creating rules to manage and protect, both humans and lycanthropes from the inevitable lapses.”_

“Please, tell me I’ve hit my head and this is some strange nightmare,” Stiles said in shock and this time Danny is too stunned to shush him again.

The Senator on the other hand, kept plowing right on ahead.

_“Everyone knows what an emotional roller-coaster women go through, when they become pregnant. I remember when my own wife was pregnant with our son, Preston. Near the end of her pregnancy, I was afraid to even be in the same room as her and she was only human. I shudder to think what would have happened, if she had possessed unnatural strength and claws.”_

_Remington gave an exaggerated shudder for affect._

_“Now, some will claim that I am being specist and unfairly singling out werewolves, but I assure that is simply not the case. I would not even think of taking such drastic, albeit necessary action, if I did not have solid, verifiable proof of my claims.” With that, the bloated politician held up a thick stack of papers and waved them in front of the gathered press and news cameras. “In my hands I hold a report, written by several eminent doctors and researchers across the country, who have compiled their findings concerning the detrimental affect pregnancy has on a lycanthrope’s ability to control themselves. Their studies even suggest that male lycanthrope can be adversely affected by the pheromones released by the pregnant females, with even more catastrophic results. With my proposal, we would create an objective committee that would review potential lycanthropic parents to see if they are stable enough to have and care for children.”_

“This is BULLSHIT!” Stiles yelled, slamming his fist down on the desk.

“There’s no way this will ever pass the House of Representatives, let alone the Senate,” Danny reassured him.

“Of course not, but that won’t stop him from kicking up all kinds of shit,” Stiles fumed.

The video then reached the questionnaire portion.

_“Senator Remington, are you trying to eradicate the werewolf population of this country?”_

_“Certainly not,” Remington denied with a smile. “I want the lycanthropic population to flourish, but that can only be done in a safe environment.”_

_“You claim this is for everyone’s protection, but is there really a need for this level of restriction?”_

_“We all saw the need just a few months ago in the video of Betty Anderson spontaneously attacking a human civilian.”_

“That is such a load of crap!” Stiles exclaimed at the computer.

The Senator was citing an internet video that went viral a few months back of a woman named Elizabeth “Betty” Anderson, who was a werewolf and pregnant, clawing the face off of a man. What that video hadn’t shown was the human ‘civilian’ (a man named Carter Wilkins, who was a prominent member of a known werewolf hate group) spraying her in the face with aconite laced mace, brandishing a silver knife, and shouting that he was going to stab her in the stomach and cut her baby in half, mere seconds before she ‘spontaneously attacked’ him.

“They proved in court that he attacked her first and that she was responding in self-defense!” Stiles hissed.

Never mind the fact that she still had to spend the last few months of her pregnancy in jail or that Carter Wilkins got off scot free.

Stiles felt his rage bubbling to the surface as magic crackled across his skin.

“Whoa, easy there Stiles,” Danny cautioned. “Thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment in here. You break it, you bought it.”

That was enough to calm him down a little bit, though if he had to listen to much more of this shit, he might not even care. Danny’s computers were lucky he’d already expended a quite a bit of energy today on the Hale House wards. Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly listened to the rest of the interview.

_“And how would this bill deal with werewolves who were deemed too dangerous to have children? Would they be spayed and neutered?” asked a female reporter from the Washington Post, the slight edge in her voice betraying her lapse in journalistic objectivity._

_“I would never resort to such a barbaric practice,” Remington stated, through the slight up twitch of his lips betrayed his approval of the idea. “As I have said before, I have no wish to impede the breeding of more lycanthropes.”_

“He calls it breeding, like they’re dogs in a kennel club,” Stiles scoffed.

_“They would simply be informed of their unsuitability and be directed towards possible counseling in order to reapply at another specified time in the future. If they truly are as civilized as we know them to be, they should have no reason not to comply.”_

“I’d like to see what he would have to say, if werewolves made a law that humans had to pass a psych eval in order to have children,” Stiles huffed. “He should have been the first one tested.”

_“What would the penalties be for couples who had children, without the approval of your commit?”_

_“The same as any other person who break a law in this country,” Remington answered. “They would be arrested, tried in a fair trial, and mostly likely, the child would be placed in protective custody for their own safety.”_

“Turn it off, Danny,” Stiles turned away from the screen. “I can’t listen to anymore.”

“It’s just a publicity stunt,” Danny soothed. “His party is probably trying to pass another bill that gives tax cuts to billionaires and robs the middle class and they’re using this as a smoke screen.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sneers. “You’re probably right.”

But knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made it worse, because he also knew that there were people out there who would actually believe this crap and use it as an excuse to justify their own hatred. Trembling with a combination of rage and magic, he didn’t notice his phone ringing, until Danny pointed it out. He had several missed calls from various pack members, but the only one he cared about now was Lydia’s.

Punching her number on his speed dial, he didn’t even have to wait a full ring, before she picked up. “Did you see—?”

“I saw the video,” Lydia interrupted him coldly, though he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t mad at him but at the situation. “I need to you back at the Manor to calm everyone down. This announcement moves up our time table considerably. We need to strike while the iron’s hot and I can’t do that, with the Pack worrying about that piece of scum and his silly piece of paper.”

“They’re going to want you,” Stiles replied, already picturing the outrage on the packs’ faces, when he tells them that Lydia is detained elsewhere.

“I know,” Lydia sighed in frustration. “And I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Stiles assured her.

“I don’t envy you right now,” Danny spoke up, after he hung up.

“Tell me about it,” Stiles groaned.

 

***

 

Martin Manor was in an uproar when he arrived and, judging from the number of cars out front, nearly every member of the pack was there. He could hear the arguing and raised voices from all the way out in the driveway. Briefly, he contemplated putting his Jeep in reverse and leaving to hide out in his apartment, but he knew he couldn’t. This was his pack and he had a responsibility to act in his Alpha’s stead. Besides, half of them had probably already heard him drive up.

Hoping to have at least one person he could count on in all this craziness, he looked around for Scott’s car, but couldn’t find it. Remembering his best friend’s schedule, he figured that Scott was still at the hospital. If it was a busy shift, he might not have even heard the news yet. Shooting off a quick next for Scott to come over to the Manor ASAP, he braced himself for heading inside.

The moment he entered the door, he was bombarded with questions and outraged statements. The most common of which was where Lydia was and why wasn’t she here. Pushing his way through the crowd, he made his way to the staircase and ascended a few steps, so that he had a better speaking vantage and waited. It only took a moments for the rest of the pack to realize that they had to quiet down, if they wanted to hear what he had to say.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Simon called out form somewhere in the back of the room, “Where’s Lydia? An Alpha should be with their pack a time like this.”

There were a murmur of agreement rippled through the pack and Stiles had to physically bite his tongue in an effort to not say something rude.

“Lydia is currently calling every contact in both local and national government she knows, in order to find out exactly what Remington’s Bill entails and, more importantly, devising a way to stop it,” he answered. It wasn’t a complete lie. She hadn’t told him that was what she was doing, but Stiles knew her well enough to know how she reacted during most crises.

“And she couldn’t do that from the Manor,” Lydia’s father, Donald, challenged. “She couldn’t have informed us of this herself, instead of sending you. It is an Alpha’s place to lead her pack in times of trouble, not delegate that authority to her _Emissary_.”

“Would like her to be here, holding your hand and **_just talking_** about how everything will be okay?” Stiles countered. “Or would you rather have her out there **_actually doing something_** to fix the problem? You all know Lydia. She doesn’t take things lying down. Whenever there has been any threat to the Pack, no matter how big or how small, she has **_always_** been on the very front lines, attacking the problem head on.”

Stiles was more than a little troubled by the unenthusiastic response his words evoked. Lydia had proven herself time and time again to be the kind of intelligent and decisive Alpha that any werewolf be honored to serve. He had thought that the rest of the pack had moved beyond their initial distrust and that she had earned their respect.

 _I guess they only trust her, when she’s making them all rich._ He mused bitterly.

“What we want is a little accountability,” Donald growled. “Not to have her running off playing ‘West Wing,’ when her pack needs her.”

This only served to set off another wave of panicked shouting and crying.

“EVERYONE LISTEN UP!” he shouted about the din, putting the barest hint of magic in his voice to ensure that they all complied. “Everything is going to be fine!”

Instantly, there was a clamor of denials and protests. He simply raised his hands to signal everyone to quiet down. Once their initial responses calmed down, he began again.

“I know everyone is very frightened and upset right now,” he told them with as much compassion as he could muster. “But the Bill that Senator Remington is purposing his a joke. We all know there is no possible way it will be made into Law. This is just a political stunt to stir up a media frenzy. You all are smart enough to realize this.”

“What if it’s not,” Uncle Charles challenged. “What if he manages to pull together enough votes and favors and blackmail to pass it into law?”

“Then the Supreme Court would throw it out as the giant ball of human rights violations and speciest garbage that it is,” Stiles retorted.

“If it does pass, I’m not sticking around to see it happen,” Uncle Charles huffed. “I have a cabin in the mountains, completely off the grid.”

“I’m sure we’ll keep that in mind as a possible backup plan,” Stiles encouraged, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s always good to be prepared.”

_Even though I’m pretty sure you’re too old and the wrong sex for this law to even affect you._

“But that’s not the real question we should be asking, is it,” Donald insinuated, giving Stiles a nasty look.

“Pray tell, what question should we be asking?” Stiles jeered, not even attempting to hide his disdain.

“If this bill is made law, whose side will you be on, Emissary?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Stiles argued. “Of course, I’d stand with the pack!”

“I find it hard to believe that you would,” Donald insisted. “Especially since, as the Sheriff, your father would be the one enforcing this law against us. Can you really claim that you wouldn’t stand with him?”

Stiles had never really cared for Lydia’s father one way or another, but at that moment he hated the man. It was bad enough he was feeding into the pack’s fear to stir up trouble, but now Donald was trying to turn them against his father, who had never been anything but fair and supportive to werewolf rights.

“Just because you feel emasculated from having your own daughter chosen as Alpha over you, doesn’t give you the right to slander my father’s good name,” Stiles taunted.

Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. The look Donald sent him was murderous and several other pack members looked at him reproachfully. The Bill would never become law and the pack all knew his father was a good man and a great Sheriff. They would have remembered that, once they got over their initial shock. He could have been the bigger man and just brushed it off. Instead he’d let Donald drag him down the infantile level he was playing at.

Needing to salvage something of the situation, he announced that he would take down a list of questions to present to Lydia, as soon as she had a better grasp of the situation. Setting up office in the dining, the situation soon devolved into counseling sessions/lectures on the basics of how laws were made. At one point he was tempted to just pull up the School House Rock song on his phone, but somehow managed to get through it.

Scott finally showed up around eight o’clock with a few dozen pizzas. If he hadn’t had his arms full, comforting a young pregnant Beta, who was terrified the government was going force her to terminate her baby, he might have gotten up and kissed his best friend full on the mouth. Once everyone was fed, they were all a little calmer and more clear-headed. After that, he and Scott organized places for everyone to sleep at the Manor that night. With werewolves it was standard operating procedure to stay under one roof, during times of trouble.

When everyone was finally settled for the night, he snuck off to Lydia’s office and checked his phone. First he called his father and let him know that everything was okay and apprised him of the issue with Donald. In return, his dad told him about how crazy the station had been with people concerned with the announcement and assured Stiles that he would quit his job, before he enforced a law like that and that Stiles could tell the pack as well. Feeling better, he went through and deleted most of the hysterical messages from the pack, and the dozens of missed calls.

One message seemed different from the rest and it was from a number he didn’t recognize.

**DH: That proposal is crap. Hope your pack is handling it okay.**

He was a little embarrassed at how long it took him to realize it was Derek’s number, but once he did, he couldn’t help the giant smile that broke out across his face. It was already pretty late and the message was sent hours ago, but he still sent a reply.

**Stiles: Things were a little crazy, but everything’s okay now. Thanks** **J**

Surprisingly, he received a reply right away.

**DH: Things are always crazy with a large pack. Glad to hear you got it under control. Have a good night.**

Grinning like a loon, Stiles quickly text back.

**Stiles: You too** **J**

Slumping back into Lydia’s leather couch, he contemplated just how far gone of Derek he was that just a few text messages could improve his crappy mood so drastically.

 

 

Come say hello to me on [tumblr!](http://luminescentlily.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10 - Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks out from under the blanket of shame*
> 
> Let me just start out by saying that being an adult SUCKS!!! Why didn't my parents ever warn me that being a grown-up was hard work and meant that I would never have time to do all the things that I love.
> 
> It has been forever and a day since I last posted anything that wasn't a little drabble written on my smartphone during lunch. Real life, unfortunately, declared itself my enemy for the past six months and has only now started to relent it's vicious onslaught.
> 
> I will never surrender my efforts to finish my stories, however I am no long in any kind of position to promise updates with any kind of regularity. I can only say that I will do my best.

 

 

All things considered, Lydia was quite pleased with herself on that morning. The past week had been an absolute nightmare; between dealing with her pack’s incessant worrying and having to adjust her plans for the formal announcement of Laura’s candidacy. But now things were finally starting to come together again.

The so-called Lycanthropic Breeding Protection Bill had been killed, before it even really began—just like she’d known it would—but the media circus it kicked off was still going strong. Supernaturals all over the country were in an uproar, which only served to fan the flames of anti-were bigotry in response. It was all anyone was able to hear about on the news and radio, with all kinds of ‘experts’ being trotted out for the talking heads on the major networks to debate with. The fact that there really wasn’t anything to debate, because Senator Remington’s ‘report’ was a nothing more than a pile of lies and falsified pseudoscience, didn’t seem to slow anyone down in the slightest.

Furthermore, Senator Remington’s little stunt had forced their hand and moved up their timetable considerably. But that might have actually helped them, in a way. The media storm was enough of a distraction that no one noticed or questioned when a local California Congressman quietly stepped down for ‘personal reasons.’ She still didn’t know exactly what was on the voicemail that was damning enough to force the man from office, but it didn’t really matter. All she cared about was that no hint of blackmail or coercion marred Laura’s campaign.

The moment that the State Congressional seat was free, Lydia arranged for Laura’s first press conference to announce her intention to run. Using every media connection she had, Lydia had ensured that Laura got coverage from a broad spectrum of networks and that it was just in time for the nightly news cycle.

To say that it had been a success would be an understatement. The announcement was short and simple, but Laura had done and incredible job of coming across as both charismatic and level-headed. Dressed in a navy blue pantsuit that Lydia had picked out, she’d looked professional, but still approachable and feminine.

The fact that Laura cited the Senator Remington’s Bill as one of major factors for her decision to run for office probably hadn’t hurt either.

And people responded even better than Lydia had hoped.

Exactly five minutes before Laura’s announcement hit the airwaves, Danny had Laura’s official website finished and, less than an hour later, they had nearly $100,000 in campaign donations from online supporters alone. The majority of those donation had come in the form of $10-$20 increments, from people all over the US and even from outside the country, for which they could thank websites like Facebook and Tumblr.

_God bless social media._

And the money hadn’t stopped pouring in ever since then. At the rate things were going, Laura might not even need the Martin Pack’s contribution, thought that wouldn’t stop them giving it anyways.

Now, she was getting ready to meet with Peter and Laura to go over the final draft of the speech she would deliver that night at the Town Hall meeting, before they kicked off their campaign tour. She was just about to head out the door, Brian already waiting with the car, when she was stopped by one of her cousins concerned about something he’d heard on the radio. It took a good five minutes to calm him down—which was four minutes and fifty-five seconds longer than was needed, in her opinion—but she finally managed to assure him that there weren’t any other potential laws concerning werewolves up for a vote, or even in consideration, at the moment.

Lately it seemed like there was an endless parade of pack members approaching her about every little rumor they heard. Most of it was idiotic nonsense that anyone with half a brain would know better than to believe. When it first began, she had brushed them off and told her pack member to sleep on it, only, instead of coming to their senses, they seemed to have even more concerns the next morning.

Their lack of faith in her was starting to concern her. She hadn’t been questioned this much about her decisions, since she first became Alpha. And there were quite a few pack member who were still upset with her for not being there to coddle them, when Senator Remington had made his little soapbox proclamation.

The only saving grace at the moment was that that Stiles’s new wards seemed to be working. Her Emissary had been running himself ragged, for the past week, making sure that all the Martin Properties’ wards were updated and expanded. With things ramping up in Laura’s campaign and her pack’s newfound paranoia, Lydia needed to be absolutely certain that things were safe on the home front. They were still no closer to figuring out who or what had been doing it, but at least now they were protected from it.

Managing to avoid any more of her pack, she slid into the waiting car and began fiddling with the radio controls, to see if there was any mention of Laura and a certain article, she’d read over breakfast. Unfortunately, it was just more of the same garbage that had been clogging the media all week.

— _there’s a pregnant werewolf at my job and I’m just terrified of asking her to actually do anything and risk getting my face clawed off_ —

— _I mean I’m not a specists, but it sounds to me like there could be some truth to these claims. I mean if all these doctors and scientists—_

_—they should all be locked up, if you’d ask me. Every. Last. One of ‘um—_

Turning off the radio in disgust, she pondered all the different methods she could use to have Senator Remington killed in such a way that it would look like an accident. Rationally, she knew she wouldn’t actually go through with any of them—if only because she didn’t want to turn Remington into a martyr for his cause—but imagining it always improved her mood considerably. So, she would just have to resign herself to ruining him politically with any dirt her hackers and private investigators were busy digging up. That thought brought a smile to her lips, as she arrive at campaign headquarters.

While she had been arranging Laura’s candidacy announcement and her initial introduction to the public, Peter had been taking care of setting up their base of operations. And she had to admit that she was extremely impressed with how quickly and thoroughly he done it. Their campaign headquarters were located in what had previously been a used car dealership. It was an ideal location for several reasons, chief among them was because it already had several phone and fax lines installed and lots of space for desks. Then there was the fact that it had more than enough parking spaces. Something that was a great help, once the volunteers started arriving.

There were, of course, quite a few locals who were proud to have one of their own running for office and happy to lend a hand, but even she and Peter hadn’t anticipated just how strong the public’s reaction to Laura would be. Entire busloads of people had driven into town, full of young hopefuls, looking to make history.

They had expected the usual crowd of political science majors that always seemed to materialize around candidates during elections, looking for experience and college credits. But the sheer volume of people that poured into town was astounding. They actually had to turn down a good third of the people who showed up, because there was simply nowhere to put them all. Something that overjoyed the local hotel and restaurant owners, who were happy to feed and lodge them all, at double the usual rate. And, instead of heading back home, those who hadn’t make the cut at the actual campaign headquarters, seemed to have set up their own informal headquarters down at the Triple Swirl, much to Derek Hale’s annoyance.

Walking through the headquarters front doors, she was immediately overwhelmed by the cacophony of dozens of people talking and twice as many phones ringing off the hook. To an outside observer, it might look like utter chaos, but there was a method to the madness. What used to be the front showroom of the car dealership had been converted to the main phone bank, where volunteers sorted through calls and took donations to Laura’s campaign fund. The former waiting room was now allocated to a team of staffers dedicated to making up campaign posters, t-shirt, hats, and making ‘Vote for Hale’ buttons that would then be handed off to another team in charge of handing out and placing them all over the county district. Actual offices were assigned to senior staff whose responsibility it was to contacted local towns to arrange speaking events and to answer questions from various media outlets with the official statements, written by Lydia herself.

Bypassing all of that, Lydia headed towards the back of the building to the conference room that Peter had claimed as his own office. It was the only place that was private enough for serious meetings and had the added bonus of being moderately soundproofed. As she made her way there, she overheard a few familiar phrases and quite a few heated discussions that quickly tapered off, when they spotted her.

Most of the volunteers had been there long enough to recognize her, the rest just instinctively moved out of her way. All except two individuals that were currently blocking her path.

“Miss Martin!” two bright-eyed young boys with matching looks of concern on their faces called out, as she approached.

She couldn't recall their names off the top of her head at the moment but, judging from their jeans and dirty, wrinkled “Vote for Hale” t-shirts, they were junior staffers, one werewolf and the other human. They looked like they could still be in high school, college freshmen at the very most. Both smelled faintly of garbage.

“Yes,” she replied expectantly, only just refraining from wrinkling her nose at the stench.

“Sorry to delay you ma'am,” the human began. “Normally we would have taken this up with one of the senior staffers or with Mr. Hale—”

“But most of them were busy and Mr. Hale has been in his office with Miss Hale all morning,” the werewolf cut in.

“Well, let me hear it and we'll see if I can help, Mr...”

“Mason,” the human offered. “And this is my friend Liam. We're part of the team that's been driving around the different districts and putting up the ‘Vote for Hale’ signs and handing out the buttons.”

“And you've been doing an excellent job of it,” she complimented, noting the way both boys' chests puff up with pride at her remark.

“Thank you ma'am,” Liam rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. His inner wolf was no doubt preening at receiving the approval of an Alpha.

“Is there something wrong with the posters?” Lydia inquired. “Some typo we missed, or did you accidentally place a few on someone's private property, instead of on public land?”

“No, it's nothing like that,” Mason assured. “It's about receipts.”

“Go on,” Lydia prompted.

“Well, you know how we were given credit cards specially linked to the Hale campaign finance fund. To pay for gas and food, when we drive around to all the different towns putting up the signs.”

She did know about that, having set up the expense account herself. She and Peter had spent several hours working out a budget for the amount of money they allocated to each section of the campaign. A budget that carefully balanced the needs of each section and with enough room for unforeseeable expenses. But no amount of planning can protect against good old fashion carelessness.

“Please don't tell me you lost one of the cards and now someone's racked up all kinds of purchases on it,” she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“No! Nothing like that,” Liam hurriedly assured her. “The card is safe and sound, but we lost all of our receipts.”

“We were very careful to make sure we got a receipt for every purchase we made with them, just like we were told,” Mason explained. “We put them all in an old takeout bag, so we wouldn't lose any, only we put it down on one of the desks—”

“Just for a second!”

“And when we went back to get it, it was gone.”

“We think someone must have thrown it away,” Liam winced. “We tried looking for it.”

“We even dug through the trash out back to find it, but we didn't have any luck. They're gone,” Mason admitted.

_Well, that explains the smell._

“We know how bad this is,” Liam all put whimpered, his big blue eyes close to tears. “Mr. Hale told us all about how careful we had to be with campaign funds because of embezzlement and stuff like that.”

 _Yes, Peter did a rather wonderful job putting the fear of God into all of the campaign staff._ She thought with amusement.

While it was true that accusations of embezzlement were very serious and could cripple a campaign, Lydia highly doubted that missing a few receipts for burgers and gas would bring them down. Not with Peter and her working their magic.

“Don't worry boys, it's not too much of an issue,” she patted them both on the shoulder. “We still have the itemized billing statement that the credit card company sends us at the end of the month. Do you remember the names of the towns you visited?”

“Yes ma'am,” Mason answered confidently. “I still have our travel itinerary in my bag.”

“Good,” Lydia stated. “Now, I want you to try and remember every place you stopped for gas and to eat. See if you can't track down the phone numbers of those places and request another copy of the receipts. Most major fast food chains should be no problem, gas stations too for that matter, as they'll show up on the credit card statement, but any local restaurants you ate at might be a little trickier.”

It wasn’t actually necessary, but it would give the boys something to do besides dwell on their mistakes and make them think that they were helping to fix the problem.

“We only ate fast food,” Liam chimed in.

“We didn't want anyone to think we were taking advantage of the campaign to spring for fancy dinners or anything,” Mason elaborated bashfully.

Lydia had to bite back a laugh at how adorable these two were. They probably thought that the Olive Garden would be considered a 'fancy dinner.'

“Then it should be fine,” She assured.

Grinning like the little boys that they were, they thanked her profusely, before turning to start their new mission.

“And boys!” she called out, halting them in their tracks. “Take a shower first. Those gas stations and fast food places will still be there in another half hour or so.”

Once she finally reached the conference room, she entered without knocking. Laura was standing at a podium, tensely rehearsing her speech in front of a critical Peter.

“Relax your shoulders more,” Peter chided. “You’re giving a speech, not facing a firing squad. You need to come off as likable, not defensive.”

“I wouldn’t be this defensive, if we could just address the real issue here—”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Laura,” Peter cut her off. “It’s one article! Your skin’s going to have to get a lot thicker than this, if you actually want to make it in office.”

“He’s quite right,” Lydia agreed, sliding into a seat at the conference table, across from Peter. “Half of a politician’s fight in getting elected is putting up with all kinds of verbal attacks and slander and doing it gracefully.”

“But have you even read this article,” Laura protested, sliding a magazine across the table to Lydia.

“I have,” Lydia shrugged.

She had read it that morning over breakfast. The article in question was a particularly vitriolic piece of writing, filled with all sorts of outrageous accusations that made most tabloids look like serious journalism. It was riddled with several barely veiled specist comments and even a few other more colorful insinuations.

“And you’re not concerned?” Laura asked incredulously. “You’re supposed to be creating my image, isn’t this hurting that image?”

“No,” Lydia smirked. “In fact, it’s doing just the opposite. All this article does, is make your enemies look petty and, by not lowering yourself to that level, makes you look like the bigger person. Any reasonably intelligent person will see this for the garbage that it is. Anyone stupid enough to believe it, is already against you and you never had much of a chance winning them over to begin with.”

“It’s not the article itself, but that we have no idea who is behind it,” Laura countered. “How can I be prepared to defend myself against these insane allegations, if I don’t even know where they’re coming from?”

“You don’t,” Lydia stated simply. “You sit back and let other people do it for you. That’s why I commissioned the article, in the first place.”

Leaning back in her chair with an amused little smile, she watched the impact of the bomb she’d just dropped. Laura’s face spasmed between conflicting expressions of hurt and rage, as she gripped the edge of the podium with a crushing force. Peter on the other hand, wore the first expression of genuine shock and surprise that Lydia had yet to see from him.

_Getting that article published was worth all the effort, if only to see that look on the implacable Peter Hale’s face._

“You _commissioned_ the article,” Laura gritted out, bringing Lydia's focus back to the pissed of Alpha.

“Yes,” Lydia responded sweetly, enjoying Laura’s reaction probably more than she should have.

“Why!” Laura growled.

“To help get you elected of course,” she stated simply.

“By giving the opposition more ammunition to use against me,” Laura snarled, only just hanging onto her control.

“I didn’t give them anything they didn’t already possess,” Lydia snapped sharply, her amusement could only stretch so far, before the Alpha in her rose to meet Laura’s challenge.

“Subversion,” Peter uttered in understanding, braking some of the tension between the two Alphas.

“Precisely,” Lydia grinned. “I’m using their own lies and slander against them.”

“Really?” Laura questioned angrily. “Because, from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re using it pretty effectively against _me_!”

“Think Laura,” she pressed. “The other side isn’t stupid—at least not entirely. The ones with real power recognize that the days of open bigotry are over. Twenty-four hour news cycles and online crusaders have seen to that. Everyone is too politically correct now for them to do anything beyond subtle insinuations that goes right up to the line, but doesn't cross it. By publishing such an obviously hate-piece, I’ve tied the opposition to that image of extreme specism. I reshaped the entire conversation. This is no longer about political parties. It's about the fresh, young woman from an oppressed people standing up against the greedy, bigoted men who control this country in a corrupt stranglehold. This is David vs. Goliath. That is how people will see this; how we _want_ people to see this. And people love the underdog hero, who rises up to beat the odds.”

“But I’ll still have to release a statement refuting all the claims in the article,” Laura reiterated, though she sounded much less certain than she had before.

“You really don't,” she replied evenly. “The anger you felt reading this article is nothing compared to the righteous fury of all your supporters. Just stick your head out that door and you’ll hear at least twenty staffers declaring their willingness to burn down this magazine’s headquarters. And that's nothing compared to what's happening on the internet. Facebook, Twitter, Instegram, and don't even get me started on Tumblr. People are fired up and ready for blood. So, I’m telling you to sit back and let your supporters fight for you, because believe me Laura, they'll do a hell of a lot better job than any statement you could release.”

“You still should have told me!” Laura argued, stepping out from around the podium and getting in Lydia's face. “This is my campaign and I wanted to run it clean.”

“Grow up,” Lydia growled, as she stood up, rising to Laura's challenge. “I am not here to be your friend or your pack-sister. I am here to get you elected. And there are things that need to be done for that to happen in this kind of world. Dishonorable and underhanded things. Things you would need to have deniability of. You knew that going in, otherwise Peter and I wouldn't be in this room right now.”

“You're here because you're the best!” Laura growled, her eyes flashing.

“Yes. I. Am.” Lydia replied with such icy force that Laura actually took a step back. “I am **the best** and you aren't naive enough to think I got to be that way playing by all the rules and always telling the truth.”

A silence enveloped the room that was thick enough to choke on, only to be shattered a few seconds later by Stiles bursting into the room, holding a bag of pastries and four coffees.

“I come bearing nectar and ambrosia for the two Goddesses in my life! And Peter,” he announced joyously, making it five steps into the room, before he realized the situation he’d walked into and stumbled to a halt. “Whoa, looks like someone started the party without me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Having made her point with Laura, she allowed the other Alpha the small victory of looking away first. “Of course not Stiles. I hope you remembered—”

“Two pumps of vanilla, not one,” Stiles finished for her, in that super upbeat and perky way he only ever was after getting his daily Derek fix. “So what were we discussing?”

Laura opened her mouth to answer, but Peter spoke first, “Laura's speech.”

Stiles's eyes darted around the room as he put the coffee and pastries down, going from one person to the next, but wisely decided to roll with it. “Perfect!” Stiles enthused, clapping his hands together. “I'm a big fan of this speech. Huge! I could not be more excited for it! What is it about again?”

“Laura’s key points for running and plans for once she’s in office,” Lydia answered.

“Fantastic!” Stiles exclaimed. “Can’t win the hearts and minds of the voters, if they don’t know what you’re running on. Where do we start?”

“My, he's quite the rambunctious one today,” Peter commented snidely. “I imagine you must occasionally feel the urge to club him over the head, like a baby seal, when he gets like this.”

“Only on occasion,” Lydia replied, giving Stiles an indulgent smile.

“Yeah, well, that goatee makes you look like a James Bond villain,” Stiles shot back childishly.

That managed to startle a laugh out of both Lydia and Laura, effectively breaking the last of the remaining tension in the room. Trust Stiles to always be able to defuse strained situations, like this. It was one of the things she valued so much about him. He was ridiculously intelligent but always knew when to play the fool to the best advantage.

After that things progressed smoothly. They managed to get through a final run of Laura’s speech without any major issues and discussed the various local news stations that Lydia had wrangled into broadcasting it. Stiles informed them that he’d checked out the Town Hall was pleasantly surprised to find it already warded with several very old spells that should provide adequate protection against any would-be troublemakers.

“Looks like the Town’s founders were pretty savvy about the supernatural stuff,” Stiles explained, clearly impressed with the town’s forbearers. “The Town Hall was one of the first buildings put up, when the town was founded back in the 1800s, well before the world at large learned about the supernatural. There are wards anchored into the building’s foundations. Inside the cornerstones, if I had to guess. It's real old-school stuff. And they even tied it to one of the telluric currents, to keep it permanently charged, just like I did with the Hale House wards.”

“Will it deter violence from the inside, as well as from the outside?” Peter enquired.

“Totally,” Stiles answered. “From what I felt, it looked like the ward’s primary function is to keep everyone inside from killing each other. I’m guessing they weren’t as into the whole cooperation and brotherhood thing as they liked to teach us in elementary school on Founder's Day.”

“What about violence from other werewolves,” Lydia asked. “I wouldn’t put it past some rogue hate group to sabotage Laura’s campaign by goading some hot-headed idiot into challenging Laura on live television.”

“That’s the best part!” Stiles grinned. “I’m pretty sure the cornerstones of the building are made of hecatolite! Or they at least have hecatolite cores. These wards were tailor-made to keep werewolves calm and human, even at the height of a full moon.”

“That would make sense,” Laura mused. “The Hales were one of Beacon Hill’s founding families and have produced more than a few mayors and other government officials over the generations. It only makes sense that they would add their own modifications and protections in all the oldest buildings.”

“Well, their forethought is certainly helping us now,” Lydia said. “To bad we can’t count on similar precautions once we start visiting other towns.”

 “I don’t see how that would be too big of an issue,” Laura argued, a slight edge to her voice. “According to what you were saying earlier, any kind of attack on me would just make the public more sympathetic.”

“Absolutely,” Lydia agreed, her tone neutral. “Especially, if they kill you and turn you into a martyr. It would practically clear the way for the next werewolf candidate to get elected, but I would prefer it if you simply stayed alive and we worked a little extra to get you into office.”

“I can make a few basic talismans that can project a few basic protection charms to wear, when the campaign is on the road,” Stiles offered, seemingly oblivious to the renewed tension in the room, though Lydia knew better. “Other than that I could always just go ahead to every town and set up a few of my own creations pretty quickly. If you give me list of towns, I can start scouting the places out in the next few days.”

“I'll forward it to you now,” Peter started typing away on his phone. “Though I would suggest that you bring a few posters and buttons with you and act like just a junior staffer. People tend to get a little twitchy around spellcasters and we wouldn't want any allegations of magical tampering or mind control, when it comes time to vote. That shouldn't be too big of a problem for you. I imagine you must get mistaken for an adolescent on a regular basis.”

“And I imagine that you get mistaken for someone who actually possesses a soul,” Stiles quipped.

“We also need to take into account the fact that our schedule will most likely change on a daily basis, depending on who eventually does decide to run against you and what the polling numbers say,” Lydia carried on, ignoring Stiles and Peter's banter. “Adaptability will have to be the most important quality of your campaign.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed, looking up from his phone. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have employ some of that flexibility right now. There seems to have been a bit of a mix-up about when our tour bus will be available. I’ll have to go and handle this personally. I believe we’re all finished here?”

“Yes,” Laura and Lydia said in unison.

“Yeah, I think I need to get going too,” Stiles added. “I'll get a jump start on those talismans and see if I can't come up with a better option for magical protection, when the campaign travels. I might be able to find a way to harness some of the Hale House protections and transport it with us through some kind of...I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” Lydia responded confidently.

Stiles was almost out of the room, when he turned and shuffled his feet,

“I'm trying to think of a polite way of asking if you two are okay to be left alone together, but I don't really think there is one,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “So I'll just come right out and say it. You two aren't going to go all _Kill Bill_ on each other, once I leave, right?”

Lydia glanced over at Laura, who answered simply, “We’ll be fine.”

Stiles hesitated, but at a nod from Lydia, he reluctantly left.

“Your Emissary is quite protective of you,” Laura observe wistfully.

“He's a good friend,” Lydia agreed. “One who is never afraid to speak his mind or tell me hard truths, even when I don't want to hear them.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” Laura sighed. “I took the article too personally. And I jumped to conclusions too quickly, when you said you were the one responsible for it.”

“In truth, I hadn’t planned to tell you at all,” Lydia admitted. “Until I saw how much the article agitated you. I had to push you, to find your weak spots. To see what we needed to work on, before your first debate. Honesty and idealism are all well and good, but these are the big leagues Laura. If you can’t handle that, then you need to step aside for someone else who can.”

“I can handle what needs to be done,” Laura intoned with determination. “But only what is necessary to even the playing field. I won’t stoop down below that level. If it came to that, then I’d rather lose this election. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“I suppose I should begin going over that list of possible questions I might get asked again and prepare myself a little better for the really nasty ones,” Laura gave another sigh, reaching for the binder of prepared questions Peter had compiled.

“No, now you should take a break,” Lydia advised. “After this morning’s little excitement, you’ll burn yourself out, if you try to push through it. Go out there and talk with the interns. Or, better yet, stop by the Triple Swirl. Spend some time with all of your loyal supporters and remind yourself of why you're even doing this. It’ll do you a world of good.”

“Yes,” Laura smiled ruefully. “I might even try one of Derek's new creation-of-the-week coffees. The one Stiles had earlier smelled pretty good. Minty. And I think Derek mentioned something about how he was inspired by Girl Scout cookie season.”

Laura’s words brought to mind another issue she had been meaning to speak with her about. It had been quite obvious for some time now that Stiles was quite infatuated with Derek, but it was only through watching their interactions recently that she had come to realize her Emissary’s attraction might not be as one-sided as she had initially believed.

She didn’t blame herself for being a little skeptical at first. Stiles had a tendency for forming intense infatuations with people considered to be unreachable—his self-proclaimed epic seven year-long crush on her, for example. But watching the two of them together, she was almost positive that this situation was different. Though Derek didn’t make that deduction easy for her, the way he alternated between clearly interested in Stiles and coldly aloof. So that begged the question as to why the broody werewolf refused to act on any of the numerous openings Stiles had given him.

Then she remembered that the Hale Pack was old; ancient even. They carried their history around them like a mantle and respected the old traditions more than they did actual laws. And, according to tradition, it was forbidden for a member of a pack—even an allied pack—to approach another pack's Emissary without the expressed permission of both packs’ Alphas. Dating another pack’s Emissary wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.

To be honest, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about Stiles and Derek dating. On the one hand, Stiles was her friend and she wanted him to be happy. But on the other hand, she was the Alpha and he was her Emissary and she couldn’t allow anything to interfere with that. Just the thought of someone trying to poach her Emissary, especially now that he was finally starting to fulfill the earlier promise that she had always seen in him, made her see red.

But he **_was_** her friend. She trusted Stiles more than anyone else in this world. That was why she asked Laura, “What's your opinion of inter-pack dating?”

“Excuse me?” Laura stammered, caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject.

“I know we briefly discussed this topic, when we agreed to the pack alliance, but I thought it prudent that we discuss it further.”

“Alpha Mart—Lydia, if Peter has made any inappropriate advances—”

“Actually, I was referring to Derek and Stiles,” Lydia replied in amusement.

Though she was quite gratified to hear that she hadn’t been misunderstanding the situation between herself and the eldest of the Hales. Peter Hale was even harder to read than his nephew.

“Lydia, I assure you that Derek knows better than to try and seduce another pack's Emissary—”

That was as far as she got before she was cut off by Lydia’s laughter. The dumbstruck expression of Laura's face, only prompted another burst of full-bellied laughs.

“Forgive me,” Lydia giggled. “You just looked so serious.”

“You’ve lost me,” Laura admitted, confusion and a hint of worry still etched on her face.

“It’s quite simple,” Lydia explained. “I have no problem whatsoever with Derek and Stiles dating. I was merely wondering if you had a personal objection that was preventing Derek from acting on their obvious attraction, or did you simply think I would disapprove.”

“I—no, I have no problem with them—but Stiles is your Emissary! You're not worried?”

“Not in the slightest,” Lydia spoken with total certainty. “Stiles is one of my oldest and certainly my most loyal friend. And, when it comes to loyalty, Stiles is as stubborn as a mule. It’s a common trait in Stilinski men. If Derek ever did try to ‘seduce my Emissary away from me,’ it would only turn Stiles away from him.”

Laura was silent for a moment, clearly processing the radical knew information Lydia had just dropped on her. When she finally gathered herself together, her reply was simple, “I’ll speak with Derek after the Town Hall meeting tonight.”

“Wonderful.”

“Well, now that I’ve gone through a veritable, emotional roller-coaster ride today, I think I’ll take your earlier advise and head to the Triple Swirl,” Laura gave a weak laugh, then stood to leave.

“One more thing,” Lydia called out, as Laura reached the door.

“Are you about to turn another of my world views on its head?” Laura teased.

“Hardly,” Lydia smirked. “I was just thinking that we’re going to have to work on the way you respond to unexpected questions.”

That brought another smile to Laura's face before telling Lydia that she would see her tonight.

Yes, Lydia was quite pleased with herself today.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> A thousand hugs and my eternal love to all you readers who are still with me.
> 
> To any fans of my other story, "The Legend of Red Hood" I will say that I have finished a very thorough outline of the next chapter and hope to have it posted sometime next week. Hope being the operative word there.
> 
> As always comments and critiques are always welcomed and encouraged.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags, I'm incapable of writing a short fic, so there will be much more to this story.
> 
> I've never written a coffee shop au before, so I hope I started it out right. I also wanted to give my thanks to supernaynay for the prompt, I hope it lives up to your expectations and please let me know if I need to change anything :)
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome or you can follow me at LuminescentLily.tumblr.com


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